


No One but Someone Reborn

by KileySSnape



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: AU, Book/show combo to make me happy, Do not post or share to another site, F/M, Fix-It, Let's all forget about S8, Mention of Rape/Non-con, Not Canon Compliant, R Plus L Equals J, Sansa Stark is Queen in the North, Slow Build, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2020-03-06
Packaged: 2020-05-31 14:06:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 22
Words: 43,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19427494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KileySSnape/pseuds/KileySSnape
Summary: "Blood and Fire. The Targaryen line will never fail, Renaerya, for we have ruled with the power of our house words and the blood of the dragon. Look at your cousin; Rhaegar will one-day rule as your uncle does now upon the Iron Throne.But we fell- oh, how we fell. The men of winter and storm broke us as if the blood of the dragon meant nothing. Robert’s Rebellion took everything from me. I fled further across the Narrow Sea, alone- farther than Viserys or Daenerys were ever tucked away. I fled to where the House Targaryen meant nothing- to where I could become no one."I was not meant to survive; I should have died like the rest of my House...but I lived to take vengeance. I bore the marks of those responsible with me and with each life I claimed, the mark was scored through. I was content to stay away from the Game of Thrones until I heard whispers that Jaime Lannister was in Sunspear. Would I be able to claim the life of the man who began the series of events that led to the ruin of my family?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I make no money from this and nothing is mine. If it was, Jaime's character would not have gone to sh*t and would have lived. The only (and one thing) I own regarding this are my OCs, whom I am immensely proud of.

_No One, but Someone Reborn_ __  
by Kiley S. Snape  
  


_Blood and Fire. The Targaryen line will never fail, Renaerya, for we have ruled with the power of our house words and the blood of the dragon. Look at your cousin; Rhaegar will one-day rule as your uncle does now upon the Iron Throne._

But we fell- oh, how we fell. The men of winter and storm broke us as if the blood of the dragon meant nothing. Robert’s Rebellion took everything from me. I fled further across the Narrow Sea, alone- farther than Viserys or Daenerys were ever tucked away. I fled to where the House Targaryen meant nothing- to where I could become no one.   
  
  


Jaime Lannister was in Sunspear. Even more amusing, he was currently under arrest by Prince Doran. I secured the cowl of my cloak I had acquired long ago in Asshai to hide my curtain of hair. I pressed a hand to the warm sandstone that separated House Martell from their subjects. Just on the other side of that wall was the man who killed my uncle. I had never met him, the Mad King they called him, and so I could not profess any sense of loyalty. Not to the one who exiled my father. There was no room for such frailty in me anymore. Such emotions had been carved out like bloody sinews of flesh from bone without mercy. But, Jaime Lannister was a mark; all the marks had to be crossed through. I scaled the wall, pausing only for a moment to take in the guards’ formation. A two-one-two pattern, eighteen steps apart from one another… _predictable_. I melted into the shadows cast by the late afternoon sun, and made my way to the dungeon well-suited for the Lion of Lannister.

“…you don’t know me,” Myrcella Baratheon dismissed, and walked out of the cell.

The door jarred against its barred brethren with a tell-tale clatter behind her. Jaime Lannister’s shoulder slumped as his head bowed. A strong man broken, I had seen it before. Only Lannister had the privilege to have his skin unmarred by fire- a pleasure my father had not been granted. I silently crept to the barred window, and slid my arms through. He kept his back to me still, and I felt something begin to burn within me. However, my twitching hand did not unclasp one of the throwing knives strapped to my sides.

“ _’And who are you,’ the proud lord said, ‘That I must bow so low?_ ” I sang softly. I smirked in silent mirth when the golden lion spun around. I withdrew my arms before he could grasp one with his large hand.

“Who are you?” Jaime Lannister growled, pacing like a caged mountaincat.

“No One.”

“A Faceless from Braavos,” he scoffed, “I thought myself worth more than a scrap like you.”

“I worship no gods, and the House of Black and White’s doors remained closed to me,” I dismissed, and tensed when his eyes took on a feral gleam, “I kill for my own, not as a mindless whelp of an ambiguous god.”

“You are not Dornish.”

“Oh?” I mused. It was true, I was not Dornish, nor was I born amidst the kingdom’s golden sands. I remember my home well and the blood that soaked it, though it had long since run dry and turned to dust. I remembered everything. “How is it to hear your own daughter say you do not know her?” I wondered.

“Shut your mouth!”

“The Lion of Lannister, at last!” I cheered dryly, “I heard you had become a housecat with a golden paw.”

“Why are you here?”

“Conversation,” I replied, and shrugged my shoulders. Curiosity was more accurate- the pull I felt to the man who managed to kill a king…something I had desired above all else. I settled in the wide ledge of the window, and watched him hesitantly sit in the nearby chair. We watched one another for a time. There was no doubt the man was handsome, as the tongue-waggers had said, but he was tarnished by the past like an ill-kept sword. He carried a great burden, and a part of me could understand that.

“How did you sneak in? I tried the same days ago, and you see where I am now.”

His attempt at humour did not go without my notice, but I had not a means to laugh for years. He tried to look at ease, and yet he could not hide his unrest at my silence. He was defenseless and that frightened him.

“Where were you born?”

“Across the water- in the South,” I lied, and smirked as he sneered.

“How old are you, girl?”

“Nine and twenty- hardly a girl,” I simpered, “But why does the great Jaime Lannister want to know such things?”

“You were born in the South, but not across the water- a girl when Robert Baratheon’s men claimed King’s Landing after my father sacked the city. Your eyes tell me exactly what I want to know.” He knew. Then again, violet eyes were not in any other bloodline- at least in Westeros. I tensed when Jaime came up to the bars once more. “How did you survive?” he asked lowly, “How did a third Targaryen escape the world’s notice?”

“I ran until I thought I could not, and then I ran more.”

His hand snatched the linen that kept my visage hidden from view off. We regarded one another; my eyes narrowed to slits, whilst his opened wide. The fabric fell limply from his slack hand, and his emerald eyes darted all over my face.

“How is this possible?”

I bent down to retrieve the abandoned piece of cloth from the ground, and wordlessly hid my hair from view once more. I cradled my head in my hands as my elbows rested on my bent knees, and watched the Lion of Lannister. He seemed so determined, yet at a loss of what to do from within the confines of his cell.

“You were killed-”

“-Like Rhaenys, and Aegon?” I demanded, and I saw him regard me intently, “Like Elia Martell, who only had the misfortune of being Targaryen by marriage? Like my parents and-”

“-You mention kin, and yet you neglect the most important of all your bloodline- your uncle. Why?” Jaime wondered.

“Aerys was the Mad King- obsessed with wildfire. I learned this long ago. My uncle did not care for my birth, nor my life. He cared for no one, not even his wife.” Jaime’s face flinched at the mention of the queen, and that surprised me. “He schemed until those schemes consumed him,” I concluded, and withdrew my long knives. I let them rest atop my knees.

“And I am the man who ran his blade along the Mad King’s throat after I stabbed him in the back.”

He wanted some violent reaction from me- joyous or vengeful- but I felt nothing. What little family I once had as my own did not include Aerys II Targaryen, King of the Andals, the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm. It was because of such a madman that I lost everyone I held dear. Jaime Lannister grew bored with me, for he went back to pacing the length of his cell. I slipped away when night had fallen.

I could hear her footsteps before I saw her; I dropped off my perch on the windowsill, seamlessly cloaked within the thick greenery. “You write like a seven-year-old,” Ellaria Sand announced. She walked around the room until Jaime’s soft reply ceased her perusal of his cell.

“You love her very much, don’t you?” she wondered suddenly.

“Of course,” Jaime agreed softly, “She’s my niece.”

“I wasn’t talking about her. You think I disapprove. Why? Because people disapprove of that sort of thing where you are from? They disapproved of Oberyn and me, where you’re from. Here- no one would have blinked an eye- if you’d been named Targaryen.

“It’s always changing- who we are supposed to love, and who we are not. The only thing that stays the same is that we want who we want…I know your daughter had no part in the terrible thing that happened to the man I love. Perhaps even _you_ are innocent of that,” Ellaria finished, and the only sound from the room was her fading footsteps. I remained beneath my cloak of foliage for a time- until the quill’s awkward scratching had ceased.

“She certainly has you fooled, just like that harpy of a sister you call a twin,” I remarked. I dug one of my long knives into the loose fitting of one of the window’s bars, allowing me to remove it, and crept inside after it gave way beneath my steel.

“I am a man with shit for honour, I can tell when someone is lying to me,” Jaime attempted in dismissal, and a dull glaze snuffed out his green eyes.

“Even when that someone has a pretty face? Why worship your distant Seven when you have Cersei Lannister? A woman so full of deceit that you cannot tell what is real and what it false… Ellaria Sand has rebuilt her life upon deceit and desire for revenge. The Mountain who Rides killed Oberyn. The Mountain is controlled by Cersei. Who should Ellaria kill to hurt Cersei Lannister? If you claim to be a man with shit for honour, then try to actually be that man. But you cannot because you do not believe it any more than I do.” I perched myself on the edge of the desk he still sat behind, his golden hand pressed against my thigh. He made to withdraw, but my hand shot out to grip his wrist. I regarded the golden hand within my grasp; the craftsmanship was superb, but it was excessively heavy.

“Don’t look at it,” Jaime growled.

“A warrior without mark is no warrior at all,” I mused, voice soft. His green eyes then understood what I meant. The two outermost fingers of my left hand were cut to the second knuckle; slivers of silver scars littered my forearms; the top, jagged, part of my ear poked out through my curtain of hair. “Nor does the beholder know what those marks have to tell,” I added, and brought his lifeless hand up to the first scar I had ever received. It was the length of a finger, barely deep enough to scar, located on the column of my throat, but it remained at the forefront of my mind- always. “With that gold hand, who are you?” I asked.

“Jaime Lannister,” he answered slowly.

My fingers slid under the hem of his sleeve and unbuckled the leather straps with dexterous fingers. I pulled the golden hand away and held it to me. His eyes narrowed as his brow fell into a furrow, but he did not reach for it. “And without this hand, who are you?” I continued.

“…Jaime Lannister.”

“ _Parts of us will fade, while others are stolen, but we will remain._ ” I voiced the words my father once told me, but I did not believe that any more; whatever Targaryen part of me had died long ago. Only a body of marks to remind me of who I used to be. I set the gold hand on the desk, and put distance between us…my control was beginning to ebb away.

“Why have you not asked why- or how- I killed the Mad King? It always goes back to Aerys, except with you,” he queried.

I struggled for words, and thus remained a statue for the span of several minutes. How could I explain that his title of Kingslayer meant nothing to me? That for me, it did not always go back to Aerys because the Mad King was not a person who mattered? I had killed knights, lords, and desired to kill a king. Robert of House Baratheon, Lord of Storm’s End, took my life beginning with a blow of his hammer when he struck down Rhaegar at the Trident. I would kill until every mark had been scratched through. I would take them all the only way I knew how. “A king who revels in burning his people alive deserves no loyalty or sovereign. For whatever reason, you knew what had to be done.”

He scoffed, but said nothing. His hand of flesh grabbed my free arm, and I tensed beneath his touch. Would he see them? He slid his hand down the length of my arm, and goosepimples rose in its wake. The only touch I had ever known over the years was the kiss of iron and steel. His emerald eyes gleamed as we looked at one another. I pulled my arm out of his grasp and made sure my hair shielded my face from his sight.

“I leave for King’s Landing tomorrow,” he said, but I knew that already.

“I know, and you bring Prince Trystane and Princess Myrcella with you. A girl like her should not have been borne of this world, nor was she meant to get caught up in the rivalry of the viper and the lion. Look after her, Jaime Lannister, because Ellaria knows Myrcella’s death can begin Cersei’s ruin .”


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I will keep you safe."

The waters kissed my skin as I swam to the ship that awaited Jaime Lannister and company; a phial of _the Long Farewell’s_ antidote was fastened about my neck, resting between my breasts. I bared my teeth as I urged myself to swim faster. Ellaria, no matter how seemingly repentant, wanted Myrcella to come to harm. Her precious Sand Snakes had failed her, and so she would do it herself. My hands latched onto the anchor, and climbed the slick chain. I ascended to the open window of the captain’s cabin; I crouched out of sight, in the shadow of the figurehead at the bow of the ship.

I heard them enter the cabin, and the anchor was hoisted out of the water. I scaled up to the railing to count the men onboard. Four Dornish, and then a man without house colours… The uneasy feeling abated when I realised he was the sellsword-cum-knight, Bronn of the Blackwater. Not one of these men would bring Myrcella to harm. I crept back down to the window.

“…we don’t choose whom we love- it’s beyond our control- I sound like an idiot,” Jaime huffed.

“No, no, you don’t,” Myrcella assured him gently.

Jaime rose to his feet, incapable of sitting still. “What I’m trying- what I’m trying and failing to say…”

“I know what you’re trying to say,” Myrcella protested softly.

“No, I am afraid you don’t,” Jaime argued.

Myrcella rose to her feet to take his hand in hers. Her green eyes met his as she explained tenderly, “I do. I know…about you and Mother. I think a part of me always knew…and I’m glad- I’m glad that you’re my father.” She rested her head on his chest as his arms hesitantly wrapped around her. I could see the weight lifted off of Jaime’s shoulders, and I could see the relief from Myrcella’s readiness to accept her true parentage.

A tension took root in Myrcella- her chest seized. She let out strained pants that hung in the suddenly hyped air. “Myrcella? Myrcella. Myrcella?! Myrcella!” Jaime cried, each repetition of her name more panicked than the previous, and he cradled her in his arms as she sagged to the floor.

I leapt through the window and fell to my knees at her side, “Move!” I barked, and tore the seizing girl away from him. Blood spilled from her nose and mouth; I tilted her face to the floor so that she would not choke on the blood running down the back of her throat, and with my free hand I ripped the phial from my neck.

“Stay away from her!” Jaime roared.

“She is dying!” I snarled, and returned my attention to the princess. I uncorked the phial with my teeth, and looked down to meet her terrified gaze. “Myrcella, I need you to swallow this. I know you can’t breathe right now and you’re scared, but you have to trust me,” I urged gently. I tipped the antidote past her bloodstained lips and watched her throat convulse as she frantically swallowed both blood and brew. “That’s it…that’s it- nice and steady,” I praised, and wiped away the blood from her face. I sat her upright to rest her head upon my breast, and combed her hair away from her face.

“Myrcella?” Jaime mumbled, but seemed at a loss of what to do.

“She will live,” I promised, “But she needs rest and plenty of water.” I carefully brought the both of us to our feet, and let Jaime bring Myrcella into his arms. He carried her to the bed tucked in the corner of the cabin; her golden hair tumbled in waves over his golden hand, and Jaime could not look away from her sweating face.

“Ser Jaime, we heard a commotion- _you_!” Prince Trystane snarled, and his dark eyes narrowed to slits, “Guards, seize her!” His outstretched hand condemned me.

My eyes darted to the still open window, but guards hastily sealed off my means of escape. I crouched low, and my hands rested on the hilts of my knives. My head cocked to one side when Jaime stepped between me and the Dornishmen.

“You will not touch her,” he ordered.

“Ser, you do not know who this monster is- but I do. She is an assassin, who will murder anyone by her own justification,” Trystane protested.

“And I am the Kingslayer- we both have shit for honour then,” Jaime dismissed, “This woman has saved Myrcella's life. The one responsible is the very same that wished her all the happiness in the world. I will say it only once more- you will not touch her- or Ser Bronn will give you more than a flea bite.”

The prince stiffly nodded his head, but his gaze did not lose its heat when he regarded my person. He walked over to Myrcella’s bedside and placed a gentle hand on her scarred cheek. “You are certain she will live?”

“Yes,” I answered.

“You,” Bronn grunted, pointing to a soldier, “Get a bath for this lovely woman- she will want to wash away the blood.”

“One can never be clean from all the blood that she bears,” Trystane muttered.

“My lady,” Bronn prompted, and offered me his arm.

“I am not a lady,” I groused, and strode past him to follow the departing soldier.

“And I am not yet a married man,” the sellsword-cum-knight quipped, "More fun for me, then."

A half bath was hastily filled for me in the cabin beside where Myrcella slept. I waited until the latch tumbled back into place before I began to undress. First, came away the linen shoes, then the shalwar trousers from Assshai, and finally the formed leather tunic. The ends of my hair were tinged red from when it had fallen into Myrcella’s blood. I settled into the small basin, and methodically washed away the scarlet that stained my flesh. I had grown accustomed to the action, having done so the first time when I was only fifteen namedays. As my skin took in the heat of the water around me, I gathered my thoughts. _What would I do now?_ I had saved Myrcella, but thought of nothing past that. _Was it time for me to return to the land of my birth? Had I fulfilled my task in the Free Cities?_ Only a few marks remained, but would I remain unknown long enough to complete my life’s work?

“Were you a slave?”

I lurched out of the tub to face the intruder, one of my knives in hand. Jaime shut the door behind him, and smirked when I made no move to cover myself. I was not mortified by my nakedness, for that held none of my secrets. The marks upon my back, however, told him more than I ever would; his eyes roved my body, those emerald orbs gleamed bright. The heat of the bath caused my scars to shine like liquid silver beneath the lantern light, and that meant many of them could be read.

“Those marks upon you are not from any whip, are they? But they were still dealt with hate - intent,” Jaime continued, “My first thought was you were a slave before your master met your knives.”

“I was never a slave.”

“Then you were tortured,” he assumed, “A Targaryen makes too enticing of a hostage.”

“Not as much as a Stark I hear, and no.”

“What do you mean ‘no’? What else could have befallen you?!” he growled incredulously, and began to walk towards me.

I stopped his approach by raising my knife once more; the steel gleamed wickedly in the swaying light. “They were put there with purpose,” I answered curtly.

“Purpose? What purpose is there in deliberately carving into your flesh?!” he mocked.

“So that I would never forget.” I turned away from him and hastily donned on my clothes. His golden hand brushed my dripping hair over one shoulder, the unyielding fingers cold against my burning skin.

“You had names carved into your own skin,” he stated, aghast. “Robert Baratheon; Houses Trant, Penrose, Caron, and Velaryon,” he read, “Why so many names of men that were killed years ago?”

“Most fell into darkness by my blades, each name crossed through when the last of their blood fell…save for the one I wanted more than all. The one who destroyed my life.”

“Robert Baratheon.”

“Yes.”

“What is your name?”

I went about securing my weapons to my person once more; with each one in places, my armour around my true self was secured in place. Frustration rolled off the man behind me like the waves beneath us that carried us from Sunspear. “What name I was given at birth is nothing anymore- Robert Baratheon made certain of it,” I finally said.

But when I turned around, Jaime Lannister was gone.

The Dornish guards reluctantly permitted me entry into Myrcella’s cabin, thanks to the assistance of Bronn. I was relieved to discover that Jaime was absent. The princess looked so fragile whilst asleep, and I settled myself carefully on the edge of her bed. I withdrew a battered, ivory comb- given to me by my mother long ago- and ran it through Myrcella’s hair. What remained of its teeth slid through her hair, the sunshine gold shifted to silver moonlight, the scar that ran across her face faded to nothingness, and for a time I convinced myself she was Vairësellia.

“Who are you?”

I ceased combing Myrella’s hair, and silently began plaiting her hair over her shoulder. I did not my head to regard Jaime Lannister. “I have no name.”

“Your parents gave you one- what was it?” he demanded softly.

“Renaerya,” I answered. It felt foreign, to be named after so long. _I was just Ren to Vairë…_

“You do not claim the noble House of your blood?” he mocked.

“I have none,” I explained, and tied off Myrcella’s braid.

“A bastard, then.”

“No!” I snarled, but quickly lowered my voice when Myrcella flinched in her sleep. “I belong to no House, for the title of that _noble_ House did nothing to protect us,” I continued venomously, but refused to say anything further. I was a fool if I believed telling this man my past would do anything for me. I refused to give him the means to ruin me.

Jaime said nothing as he took a seat at the foot of Myrcella’s bed, but I could feel his gaze cut through my curtain of hair. “You saved her- you saved my daughter,” he murmured lowly, eyes now upon Myrcella, “I could do nothing, yet you saved her. Why would you help me?”

“I did it for her. Enough innocent blood has watered the earth in that damned realm, and it has not ceased since Robert Baratheon killed Rhaegar at the Trident. That land has been fed a thousand times over.”

“Will you return to King’s Landing with us?” he asked after a time.

“I do not know.”

Myrcella’s eyes danced beneath their lids like frantic, caged birds until they fluttered open. “Who…?” she rasped.

“My name is Renaerya,” I answered freely, “Do you remember me?”

“Couldn’t breathe…” she noted while nodding her head.

“You were poisoned, but the antidote has burned it out of your blood. However, you will feel very weak for the few upcoming days,” I explained.

“Is Trystane all right?” she asked tremulously.

“He was never in any danger,” I assured her.

“You saved my life,” she stated.

I tucked a wayward strand that was starting to fall out of her plait and wordlessly nodded. “You are safe now, no harm shall befall you whilst I am aboard this ship.”

“How…How are you feeling?” Jaime inquired.

“Tired,” she admitted.

“Then you must rest,” he urged, “We have a journey ahead us yet, so do not rush yourself to recovery- please.”

I ran my scarred fingers gently up and down the length of her arm, as I had done with Vairë, and Myrcella was soon asleep. I was drawn away to a simpler time, and I promised softly, “I will keep you safe.”

I would not fail, for I was the not the same girl when they came for the blood of the dragon many years ago…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all who have left kudos or viewed my fanfic! It warms my heart! For those wondering about Myrcella's scar mentioned, I drew that from the books from the assassination attempt on her life.


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "By what right does the dragon judge the lion?

Days merged one after the other upon the sea, and Myrcella would spend her time between Trystane and me, much to the chagrin of the former. However, Jaime and the princess interacted with one another in such timidity. He seemed almost at a loss of what to say to her.

I walked past the young couple settled atop pillows on the main deck, my intent was to scale down the bow of the ship to feel the splash of the seawater on my face.

"Ren!” Myrcella called after me, so I gave pause. She broke away from her beloved to come to me. “Those bells in your hair…I’ve never seen them before,” she continued.

“I should hope not, Princess,” Bronn chuckled wryly, “For the Dorthraki are not a hospitable people.”

Her green eyes grew wide at the man’s words, and I could see the curiosity catch within her. “You’ve traveled with the Dorthraki?! Is that how you got those bells- they gave them to you?” she asked eagerly.

“A _khal_ attempted to abduct me, and so I took his braid and these bells as spoils,” I remarked. I had taken more than his braid; however, Myrcella did not need to know that truth. “These are not given idly, Princess, and I hope you are never in a position to receive them,” I added softly.

“Is it true? What Trystane told me? You kill people…?”

“I am an assassin, though I am not one for hire,” I confirmed.

“But why would you want to kill someone?”

Despite growing up in King’s Landing, despite being the daughter of Cersei Lannister, Myrcella believed that life was the make of great songs and tales. A part of me envied her for it, but the greater part knew better…I knew better than to endure the grief from such innocent faith a second time. However, I would not be the one that began to taint her innocence. I remained silent, and what interest she had in my transformation to a killer ebbed away. Myrcella returned to Trystane, who seemed pleased that his betrothed left my company.

“Life’s hardened you,” Bronn grunted.

The wind combed through my hair, causing the bells to chime- the notes reminded me of Vairë’s laugh…but then, so much reminded me of her. I had let life’s trials harden me like armour, so that I would not feel that kind of grief again. My eyes found Jaime’s, who regarded me strangely.

“I left my door unlocked last night, and yet you did not grace me with your company,” Bronn continued, and he seemed astonished at my flushed cheeks, “Do you mean yer a… Seven hells, Lannister, this killer’s a maide-”

I broke away from the sellsword-cum-knight as the aforementioned joined Jaime. I climbed to the crow’s nest, nodded to the man atop the small platform before I settled against the mast. Her name shone upon my arm in the afternoon sun… _Vairësellia_. By her name flanked our parents’; their letters were done by a trembling, childish hand- my own- years upon years ago.

“My lady, Ser Jaime is asking for you,” the man announced.

The sun was setting on the horizon; I had not realised how long I had been lost to memory. I made my way down the rope ladder, and looked at the transformation the deck had undergone. Lanterns swung in time to the rocking of rolling sea, and I saw that Myrcella had changed into a new dress.

“Ren, isn’t it lovely?!” she trilled, “Trystane set it all up as surprise for my nameday.”

“It is lovely,” I praised, and made to slip below deck to avoid the celebration. My retreat was halted by Jaime occupying the doorway.

“Are you well?” he asked congenially.

“Well enough.” I tried to duck under his arm, but he caught me by the wrist. “Let go of me,” I warned.

“Myrcella want you to be part of the festivities,” Jaime argued.

“I do not care-” I began to lie.

“-Ren, come dance with me!”

In a blissful, ignorant moment, I could have believed Myrcella was Vairë. Jaime’s eyes darted to my face, and that confirmed my suspicion that I had gone pale. I took a shuddering breath and met the man’s gaze.

“Are you-” he pressed.

“-I’m fine,” I interjected, and walked back onto the deck. I met the princess, who twirled about beneath the open air. She beamed at me and outstretched her hand.

“Dance with me,” she repeated.

“I…don’t know how,” I confessed.

“It’s all right,” Myrcella assured me, and took me by the hand, “Ren, just- just have fun!” She awkwardly twirled my taller frame about, laughing when she saw my tense expression. “Do what feels natural,” she prompted.

Natural, right…perhaps I could do something. A drum joined the flutes, and my blood pulsed to the beat. “Side face,” I mumbled, and planted my feet. I had learned the Braavosi water dance when I sought refuge from the few mercenaries still in pursuit of me- shortly after the Usurper’s ascension. I raised my arms to fighting pose; I began to dance the only way I knew how- fightinh. The Dortraki bells in my hair chimed as I spun, smoothly making my way about the deck.

I ducked beneath the Dornish arms of the guards whom intended to snatch me into a dance, and kept myself away from the others that wanted to try. However, I failed to keep my guard up for the knight of Westeros. My breath hitched when I crashed into him, and his hand held me to him.

“Dance with her, if you dare!” Trystane challenged.

“I do,” Jaime replied softly, though I was the only one to hear it. I pulled my arm out of his grasp.

“Forgive me, but I do not know any dances,” I mumbled, and slipped below deck. I ducked into the cabin I currently occupied and hastily threw open the large window. I took in greedy gulps of air, and the sea’s mist hit my face in rhythmic pulses.

“I did not realise dancing with me would be such an offense to your character,” Jaime goaded, “Or perhaps the maiden fears to be so close to a man. Which is it?” He came up behind me; I tensed like a taut bowstring when his hand grasped my arm. “Why do you recoil from me?”

With my left hand, I reached over and latched onto his wrist. I swung his body around mine, and shoved him into the column of wood beside me; I bent his arm harshly behind his back- I could feel his bones groaning in protest. “Because I cannot let myself trust you, Jaime,” I announced bitterly, and released him. “I was there,” I murmured, eyes to the moonlit sea.

“You were where?”

“I was there the day you attacked Eddard Stark in the streets of King’s Landing. You were going to lose- be it by Stark’s hand or another’s- you were meant to die,” I continued.

“What brought a Targaryen to the capital?”

“Watching,” I lied indifferently.

I drew away from his person and made to slip away once more. Jaime’s hand gripped my wrist, and I found the impulse to bring one of my knives to the column of his neck. “You do not get to leave after saying a thing like that,” he warned, and I heard his breath catch. His golden hand brushed aside my hair, the bells crashed against the cold metal. _He saw- he knew._ “My name,” he rasped lowly, and his hand of flesh fell over the raised letters of his name between my shoulders. “You were there to kill me,” he accused.

“It’s what I am- a killer.”

“I have seen you with Myrcella- you look better as a sister than a killer. You are too gentle-”

“-Gentleness did not stop the sword from separating my sister’s head from her shoulders!” I seethed. The words came tumbling out and I would not stop them this time. “I beseeched words of mercy that my sister would live. She was only _nine_ \- nine namedays. The knight held her in front of me by her hair- I begged him to spare Vairë. She was just a child.

“Her blood burned as it painted my skin and the last word she spoke was my name. _My name,_ Jaime Lannister. Even then she believed that I could save her. Do you know what her murderer said to me? ‘ _The dragons are gone and so shall the abominations that share their blood- in the name of Robert, of House Baratheon, King of the Andals…_ The Usurper killed a child to strengthen his grasp on a throne that would sooner cut its king than crown him. I killed that banner man, and his blood was just the beginning. My sister and parents were murdered, and I was left to pay the iron price.”

“Renaerya,” Jaime began.

“So, you tell me why I should be gentle when I live in world where murderers rule and play the wretched game of thrones. The only way to survive is with iron and steel. You tell me why, Jaime.”

My breath escaped me when he seized my face with both his hands; his flesh seared my clammy face and his gold froze my blood. His emerald eyes blazed as they trapped my violet. “Enough people have suffered…” he explained lowly.

“Do not claim to know me,” I protested faintly, "Do not claim to be the fount of wisdom."

“I know you better than most- I understand why you became a killer.”

“Is it the same for when you drove your sword through Aerys’ back and then slit his throat?” I wondered.

“You bear my name upon your flesh- you seem to hate me…yet why do you not call me it? Say it… _Kingslayer,_ ” Jaime demanded, still holding me fast.

In that moment, I felt pity for him as our eyes locked once more. The world knew the demise of Aerys II Targaryen, but they did not know for what cause- as Jaime and I did. They celebrated his demise, but cursed the man who brought about the end of his madness. “You were to protect the Queen, but not from him,” I whispered, for I had heard the murmured truths of Aerys.

His eyes burned brighter, but I could see the haunting memories rolling within his mind. “Say it… _Oathbreaker,_ ” he sneered.

“What of Brandon and Rickard Stark? What was worse, seeing a father burning in his own armour- or his son choking himself to try to save him?”

“Say it! _A man without honour!_ ”

“What of the wildfire? Half a million people condemned to burn…”

He tore away from me and roared; he swung his golden hand across the desk, and ink bled onto the cabin floor. “Why will you not say it?!” he demanded.

I came up behind him, regarding his trembling form in silence. I reached out my hand and carded my fingers through his golden hair; his trembling ceased, but he was still tense beneath my touch. Perhaps he thought I meant to kill him, but what he failed to realise was that I understood him. “By what right does the dragon judge the lion?” I wondered.

My hand lingered in the air long after Jaime had stormed out of the cabin.

“Will you stay with me, Ren?” Myrcella asked as I braided her hair beneath the stars, “The captain says we will arrive in the morning…oh, please say you will stay!”

“I do not think the Queen Mother will want you in the company of a…killer,” Trystane remarked.

“Trystane!” Myrcella protested.

“He only means to keep you safe,” I chided the ruffled girl, and continued pulling her hair into the intricate plait. “I know you will come to no harm with him at your side. I will not step into King’s Landing for some time, nor do I think I would be well received.”

“But when I tell them all how you saved my life, even Mother will welcome you!”

“Myrcella, do not force her to stay out of obligation to you. I’m certain Renearya has plans of her own that she must see to,” Jaime announced on his way to speak with the captain.

I barely finished when she spun around to embrace me. I did not flinch at her touch, nor did my hands twitch to grip my long knives, but the sensation remained foreign. “You will not miss me once you are home,” I dismissed.

“But I will!” Myrcella protested adamantly, “I don’t care what the world thinks of you- you’re my friend.”

My arms hesitantly folded around her, and as I was wont to do around Myrcella- I believed that I was with Vairë. “As I you,” I confided softly, for only her to hear.

“Renaerya,” Jaime called.

“Good bye, Princess,” I bid Myrcella, and turned to Trystane. “You do everything to keep her safe, or I shall add a Viper to my names,” I warned lowly, and I saw a spark take root in his dark eyes. I went up to the helm, where Jaime stood alone.

“Where will you go?”

“I do not know,” I professed.

“Go North.”

“What business would I have in the North?” I scoffed.

“I…My friend, Brienne of Tarth…I have charged her with finding Sansa Stark and returning her to Winterfell- where the North will keep her safe,” he explained haltingly.

“You would have me protect a Stark?” I growled.

“Renaerya, please. I swore to Catelyn Stark that I would return her daughters home. I cannot break this vow- Sansa Stark is my last chance for honour.”

“Very well.”

“I have ordered the captain to prepare one of the ships for you,” Jaime noted, and I made to leave. “Renaerya,” he began, only to draw in a deep breath as he looked at me, “…do not lose whatever piece of you is left.”

Violet eyes met emerald for what I believed to be the final time. “Good bye, Jaime,” I bid, and slipped into the cloak of night to take my leave.

_I have returned to the land of my forebears._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I loved the scene where Jaime explained why he earned the slur Kingslayer to Brienne - especially when he said "By what right does the wold judge the lion?" I had hoped that would reappear in later seasons, but obviously was disappointed... *sigh*


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Valar morghulis.

I did not make my way to the North immediately, there were still marks that lingered in Westeros that needed to be marked through… and I made certain they were.

I crept along the perimeter trenches of the Lannister camp outside Riverrun, but I came to a stop when I saw a familiar face. Bronn, the sell-sword-cum-knight… He was taking a piss and was alone. I made my way to his side and asked, “Where is he?”

“Fuck!” Bronn exclaimed, fumbling to grab his blade in one hand and tuck his cock back into his breeches with the other. The way he looked at me, clearly, he thought he would never see me again. “What in the seven hells are you doing here?” he whispered, looking around to make sure no one would see me.

“I have heard…unsettling news,” I answered coolly.

“Where did you go after you left the ship…shit, you’re the one that’s been killing highborn men off one by one, ain’t ya? That takes balls.”

“Is that praise?” I wondered wryly.

“Don’t let it go to your head- you’re in enough danger in a place like this as it is. Why are you here?” Bronn demanded.

“Take me to him.”

Bronn scoffed as he righted his clothing and shot me a strange look. He pulled the cowl of my cloak even lower over my face and growled, “Keep your head down- and _don’t_ kill anyone.” He briskly set off to the commander’s tent. One man leered at my tight clothing, and rose to his feet, but Bronn wrapped an arm around me and possessively cupped my ass. “Mine, fellas, find your own,” he warned with a light laugh, and pulled me between the lines of tents.

“Remove your hand before I do with steel,” I seethed between clenched teeth.

“Knew you’d have a great ass,” Bronn concluded, squeezing one more time before hastily removing his hand when mine reached for the handle of my dagger. “Never any fun with you, is it?” he grumbled. A grand tent came into view, gold and lined in crimson with the rampant lion baring its teeth upon the flaps. “Don’t kill him…shit’s bad enough as it is,” Bronn bid, and sauntered off.

I crouched low and circled around the tent and watched. Jaime conversed with a woman, whose stature could only mean that she was Brienne of Tarth, and my eyes narrowed to slits when I began to hear their conversation.

“I never thought you’d find her. I just assumed Sansa was dead.”

“Why would you assume that?” Brienne demanded.

“In my experience, girls like her don’t live very long,” Jaime explained.

My lips pulled back into a silent snarl and I ducked inside under the back of the tent. I kept to the shadows, creeping along the edge until I was behind Jaime. I could see the betrayal in Brienne’s startling blue eyes; I could feel that betrayal myself.

“I don’t think you know many girls like her,” Brienne mused dryly, and I saw her narrow her eyes on Jaime.

“Well, I’m proud of you- I am, you’ve fulfilled your oath to Catelyn Stark against all odds,” Jaime continued.

_And what of your oath, Jaime Lannister?_

“Of course, my sister wants Sansa dead- the girl’s still a suspect in Joffrey’s murder, so there is that…complication… What the hell are you doing here?” Jaime demanded.

_Who was this man?_

“I’ve come for the Blackfish,” Brienne explained.

“You’re welcome to have him.”

“Lady Sansa desires to take her ancestral seat back from the Boltons and assume her rightful position as Lady of Winterfell.”

“With what army does she plan on taking Winterfell?” Jaime asked lowly.

“The Tully army,” Brienne challenged.

“They’re a bit occupied at the moment- I’ve been sent to reclaim Riverrun currently defended by Tully rebels, so you can see the conundrum,” Jaime fired back smoothly.

“The Tullys are rebels because they’re fighting for their home?” the lady knight wondered, and her brow furrowed.

“Riverrun was granted to the Freys by royal decree-”

“-As a reward for betraying Robb Stark and slaughtering his family!” Brienne interjected.

“Exactly,” Jaime agreed darkly, “We shouldn’t argue about politics…” Jaime walked around the desk of his tent, and I pressed deeper into the shadows.

“You’re a knight, Ser Jaime, I know there is honour in you. I’ve seen it before-”

“I’m a Lannister. Don’t ask me to betray my own House,” Jaime growled.

“I do no such thing. Take Riverrun without bloodshed, ride south with your mission complete, and your army intact,” Brienne offered.

“What do you propose?” Jaime pressed.

“Allow me to enter Riverrun under a flag of truce, let me try to persuade the Blackfish to give up the castle.”

“Why would he abandon his ancestral home?” Jaime scoffed.

“Because you’ll allow him to safely lead the Tully forces north.”

Jaime once again came up to Brienne once more and asked, “Have you ever met the Blackfish?”

“No,” Brienne replied tersely, though I saw her confusion.

“He’s even more stubborn than you are. All right, try to talk some sense into the old goat- he won’t listen, but his men might. Not everyone wants to die for someone else’s home,” Jaime acquiesced.

“I need your word. If I persuade him to abandon the castle, you’ll grant us safe passage north.”

Somehow, this lady knight had faith in Jaime Lannister; faith in the remnants of his honour that he so dutifully tried to keep locked away. She had faith in a man that no longer existed; the Jaime Lannister, who tried to keep whatever honour he possessed was gone. Cersei Lannister had seen to that.

Jaime was silent for a moment before he softly answered, “You have my word. You have until nightfall.”

Brienne’s jaw set resolutely, and her hands went to the buckle of her sword belt; Jaime’s and my brows furrowed in confusion as the lady knight of Tarth removed the Valyrian blade from her person. She held the sword out for Jaime to take, his brow relaxed, and he let out a sigh. “You gave this to me for a purpose… I have achieved that purpose,” she spoke.

“It’s yours,” Jaime murmured, “It will always be yours.”

The two knights shared a weighted look, and Brienne slowly fastened the sword belt back in place. She walked by him and headed for the mouth of the tent but stopped at the mouth. “One last thing… Ser Jaime,” she began.

“Yes…Lady Brienne?” Jaime inquired in an equally formal manner.

“Should I fail to persuade the Blackfish to surrender, and if you attack the castle, honour compels me to fight for Sansa’s kin,” Brienne observed.

“Of course, it does.”

“To fight you…” Brienne continued, and those words clearly had an effect on her.

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” Jaime mused lowly, and watched as Brienne left.

_Sansa Stark is my last chance for honour_. Those were the words he had said to me…what changed him?

I left the tent as my throat tightened and a heavy ball settled within my chest. I hurtled between the rows of tents, ignoring the lingering glances and lewd calls of soldiers, until I reached the tree line at the outskirts of the Lannister camp. _I couldn’t breathe_.

“Lass!” Bronn called after me, clearly haven taken pursuit of my fleeing person.

I snarled and brought him to the ground in my blind rage, and gulped air into my burning chest. Yet no matter how deep I inhaled, the feeling would not go away…even the cold air burned my lungs, I lurched off Bronn and paced beneath the trees like a caged shadowcat.

“What happened?” Bronn wheezed as he lifted himself out of the mud, his brows shot up when he regarded my wild face. “I didn’t think a woman like you could cry,” he remarked.

“What are you-” I began to protest vehemently, but then my vision blurred and I felt a hot tear roll down my cheek. _I had not cried since…Vairë._ I looked at the man before me, lost…and angry.

“Did you two talk?” Bronn pressed.

I shook my head as I folded my arms together to hide the trembling of my hands- whether it was fear or rage, I did not know. “What… What happened to him?”

“Who do ya think?” Bronn scoffed, “Didn’t take long, neither.”

_Cersei Lannister_.

That bitch had gotten her claws back into him, and the beginning of something good that Jaime had done was for naught. A part of myself was reminded that he was a mark…but the greater, weak from sentiment, part of me was reminded that he had the ability to be a good man…a man that I could never bring myself to kill.

I started walking deeper into the trees, and I heard Bronn call after me, “Where are you going?!”

_To decide whether or not to have another mark scratched through…to discover if I was strong enough to kill Jaime Lannister_.

I watched him from the rooftop of a tower as he looked out from Riverrun’s battlements; I do not know what Jaime had said to sway Edmure from his resigned fate of death that made him enter the castle and order the Tully men to stand down…but he had succeeded.

Lady Brienne and her squire had gotten away safely, though the Blackfish had died fighting…a way he wanted to go. I cocked my head at the resigned manner in which Jaime bid her farewell with a slow raise of his hand; perhaps if things were different, then they would not have to be honour-bound to at opposing ends of an ever-growing war. Jaime remained on the wall for some time, and his men left him alone.

I slid down the rooftop, and landed behind him with a muffled thud. I wrapped my arm around Jaime’s neck and pulled him into the tower. Once inside, I had him on his back before he could reach for his sword; my knee pinned his right arm to the ground…I knew he had realised that the golden hand worked to his advantage now. I straddled his chest as I glared down at him.

“Renaerya?” he rasped, brow furrowed.

“Shut up,” I warned, and I could feel the fire sparking in my chest. _The Dragon was beginning to stir_. I took a deep breath and punched him. “You _lied_ to me! After I saved Myrcella- you had the gall to send me away with a child’s tale of honour. Did you think word wouldn’t reach me?!” I demanded, baring my teeth.

Jaime shoved me off him and clambered to his feet. Armour made one clumsy, I danced around him, easily dodging his attacks. I landed more punches, hitting his face mostly. I kicked the backs of his knees, and he stumbled to the ground. I gripped his hair and craned his head back so that once again my eyes bore into his. My long knife twirled into my hand, and was pressed against his throat as quickly as an afterthought.

“You returned to King’s Landing a better man than you were born when I left Myrcella to your care- do you even care about _your_ _daughter_ anymore? Or has that bitch of a twin got her claws so deep into you, you’ll die if you break free this time? You are as stupid and blind as the man that pushed Brandon Stark from the broken tower. I thought you better than this- I thought you stronger,” I spat.

“What do you know?! Nothing! You’re a bitch with no name – no House – with no one except for the scars littering your back!” Jaime fired back.

I dug my blade into his skin; I could see the blood rush to the surface from the pressure…such a thin layer of flesh until my blade met sinew. “I want the Jaime Lannister that sent me to rescue Sansa Stark because she was his last chance for honour, not this…this coward in armour hiding behind a bastard,” I confessed.

“You want me to be another fucking honourable Eddard Stark- who lived, breathed, and shat honour until the day he got his honourable long face hacked from his shoulders. Well guess what- I can’t.”

Those eyes…they betrayed his words. The haze of his sister’s influence ebbed away some, but I was apprehensive to fall for such eyes a second time. “When have I asked such a thing of you?” I wondered lowly, “I do not want you to be…I want you to be the Jaime Lannister, the Jaime that was beginning to realise that Cersei’s schemes were getting out of control…the Jaime that made a vow to find Sansa Stark- to bring her home and keep her safe. Do not lose whatever part of that man is left in you.”

“That man is gone.”

I lowered my blade and released my grasp on him. I backed away until I was at the entrance of his tent. “Then I have no need of you,” I concluded, “You will not see me again.”

_I will keep my promise to you; I will bring Sansa Stark home, and I will protect her._

_I had to gain the loyalty of the North…I needed more than myself to take on Bolton’s men in Winterfell- and no one would help the assassin unless I proved myself_. Entering the Twins was easy; Walder Frey believed that Lannister crimson and gold protected him even after the death of the Great Lion, Tywin Lannister, and so he had become lax in posting proper sentries.

I crept through the empty hall, and I came to a halt at a tell-tale stain upon the floor. The blood had long-since dried, the scarlet muted to dull rust, but there was no mistaking it. The blood of the King of the North, the blood of Robb Stark, remained upon the floor of Walder Frey’s keep. I hated House Stark, but not enough to give a mark upon me and what the Young Wolf tried to do in vengeance of his father was as noble as his father in the rebellion against the Mad King. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, and a guard opened the door leading to Frey’s chambers.

“His lordship is waiting,” he barked out.

Mistaken for a common whore…but Frey would learn, and in turn so would his men before they felt the caress of my knives. I kept my face hidden, but walked with the sway that would match any courtesan in Lys. I was let in without the slightest hesitation, how wonderful.

“Clothes off,” the lecherous lord leered, not even rising from his bed, and said to the guard, “Leave us.”

I waited until the oak door slammed shut and then barred the door.

“It won’t do to be interrupted,” I cooed, and dropped my cloak.

“Very pretty,” Frey crooned, and I crawled up the bed to straddle him.

“Shall we play a game?” I teased.

“Oh, _yes,_ ” he groaned.

I bound both wrists to the bedposts before he could voice complaint. I unfastened the pouch at my hip and set it beside us on the bed. I flashed him a dangerous smile, and fear flickered when Frey’s eyes finally met mine. I withdrew my dagger and began to slice into his aged flesh. _Careful, now, they must be able to read the name._ He howled and thrashed beneath me, but this was just the beginning.

“You offered House Stark the bread and salts, but I am afraid I must make do with blood and salt,” I observed idly. I reached into the pouch and sprinkled salt over the scarlet lips that wept. I grinned at his screams, and sat back to regard the treacherous lord. Blood leeched into the bed linens, and Frey’s attempts to escape grew weak. I ran my dagger across his cheek, and reached for the last of the salt. “It appears that is the last of it,” I sighed, and dug my knuckle into the freshly seasoned wound. The decrepit man moaned beneath me, and the salts ran red. “How does it feel to be cursed by man and the gods?” I wondered, pressing my knuckle deeper.

Walder Frey could only let out a groan.

“I heard that you smiled when Edmure Tully was wed to your daughter- could you not contain your treachery even then?” I leaned over him and watched the pain and the defeat glaze over his rheumy eyes. “You broke the guest right. You murdered Robb Stark, his men, and Catelyn Stark…whom I hear has been avenging that betrayal on your men like they are summer blossoms against the winds of winter. Should I leave you for her?”

“Who…Who are you?” Walder Frey wept.

“No One, but someone called me the Burning Shadow in Essos, once, but I will tell you a secret…” I confided, “I am one of the last of House Targaryen. Sansa Stark sends her regards.” I climbed off the man, and left him to die in his bed- let his men see him soaked in his own blood and have a bitter taste of fear. I hummed softly as I slipped out the chamber, and shot Walder Frey one last feral grin, the notes of _the Rains of Castamere_ floating past my lips. The scarlet letters bleeding on the dying lord’s chest spelled out one name.

_Stark._

A blonde serving girl with wide eyes stood outside the chambers. “You saw No One,” I murmured under my breath, and brushed past the girl.

“ _Valar morghulis_ ,” the girl whispered.

“ _Valar dohaeris_ ,” I answered, “But this man was not taken for the Many Faced God, girl.”

As I rode across the bridge leading north to Winterfell, the alarm had only just begun.

A part of me knew that House Frey would fall within a sennight.

_Valar morghulis_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As much as I loved "Winter came for House Frey" scene, I enjoyed the irony of Ren putting salt in Walder Frey's wounds.


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A dragon finds herself in the North.

The North was harsh and unyielding. The snow fell in earnest, now that winter was drawing near. The North bent the knee to the Boltons out of preservation for keeping their skins intact and their lands free from pillage and rape. The North belonged to House Stark, Sansa was the heir of Winterfell, and I would see that she reclaimed her birthright. I had discovered that the only known Stark was coming south of the Wall with her half-brother, Jon Snow. I heard that their numbers did not match the Bolton forces; nor would they ever match Ramsay’s brutality.   
I entered the keep with the skittish maids the eve Sansa Stark was on Bolton’s doorstep with her army; new faces were common when Ramsay’s appetites were ever increasing. I slipped into the crypts of House Stark, and waited for darkness. As I waited, footsteps fell upon the damp stone floor; someone was in the crypts.   
“…I mean to feed Ned Stark’s bones to my dogs.” Lady Dustin, an unmarked name of one of the traitors that would be choking on their own blood soon, announced.  
I remained unseen behind the tomb of Lyanna Stark until dawn came. I pulled the cloth wrap tighter around my hair as I entered the castle with the maids. I made my way down into the kitchens, and waited. I waited to hear the name; I wordlessly chopped whatever was placed in front of me, I kneaded dough, and the cooks paid me no mind. They took my scars for a clumsy girl, who did not know her way with a knife, or whose clumsiness got her punished by her lord.  
Scars were no rarity for those who served House Bolton.  
The kitchen fell silent when two guards came in, and a kitchen maid hastily began preparing a meager plate of food. Now. I ducked out to follow the guards, my footsteps mere whispers against the stone.  
“Keeping the Stark boy where he…bedded Lady Sansa, it’s not right,” one of them remarked.  
“Shut your gob, before you find yourself as one of the flayed men for tomorrow,” the other snapped. We went deep into the castle, to the Lord’s Chambers. Only one guard stood watch, which meant that I only had to deal with three. Excellent. I waited until the two guards had entered the room, and shut the door firmly behind them.  
“‘ello, lovely,” the lonely guard crooned as I came out of the shadows, “What brings   
you-”  
My knife going through his eye ceased any further chatter; I cradled his limp body in my arms as I eased him onto the floor. The guard’s blood ran along the edge of my blade and the drops that hit the floor seemed deafening in the heavy silence. I slowly reached behind me to grab the twin to the long knife already in hand, and waited.   
The door snapped open, and the two guards came to a stop when they saw me standing in the doorway. “What the fuc-” one began.  
My arms snapped out instinctively, and my knives nestled themselves in the tender, exposed skin of their throats. They crumpled to the ground in twitching heaps of blood dripping from iron shells. I idly wiped my blades clean before I raised my head to look at Rickon Stark.  
His eyes, Tully azure, were wide in terror, but I could almost feel the hope sparking inside him. He was dressed like a wilding, the free folk beyond the Wall. “Who…Who are you?” he asked tremulously.   
“I am here to look after you, do you trust me?”  
“Is…Is Lord Ramsay playing another game?” he wondered tremulously.  
“No, I don’t serve that bastard,” I promised, and lowered the cowl of my cloak, “Do you know who I am?”  
“A…A Targaryen,” Rickon answered.  
“Yes, come…we have to hurry,” I pressed, and quickly sheathed my knife to hold out my hand. Rickon looked at it as one would behold a shadowcat, “Rickon, I want to keep you safe. I want to keep you safe for Sansa and Jon,” I murmured gently.  
“Do you…Do you promise?”  
“I swear it by the old gods and the new,” I vowed, and smiled when he took hold of my hand. I led him down the same path I had taken, thankfully meeting no one. Even a Northerner could not be trusted to keep a secret when under the attention of Ramsay and his methods of interrogation. I led him deeper into the crypts than I had even ventured; I wanted him as safe as possible…as far away from the light to be seen.  
“I’m scared,” he whispered as I tucked us behind an unknown, long faced, Stark.  
“It will be all right, your brother and sister will go to battle against Ramsay- and they will take back your home,” I soothed.  
“They killed Shaggydog…”  
“I know… I am sorry. He looked after you, and now it is my job.”  
“Maester Luwin taught us that Targaryens were enemies of House Stark,” Rickon announced.  
“And some are, but I never asked to be a Targaryen,” I explained gently, and wrapped my arm around him to bring him close. “Get some rest, little one,” I whispered.  
His head slowly became heavier against my shoulder, and my hand hesitantly reached up to comb through his curls. He was so young; he was just a child…his father died before he passed his fourth nameday, and his mother too soon after. He had only his siblings – the few that remained – left in a world full of enemies. His eyes danced beneath their closed lids, and his hand shot out to grip my tunic fiercely. I tensed briefly, but relaxed when Rickon only breathed deeper. He needed me.

The castle went into an uproar from thundering feet of thousands of soldiers and the frenzied search for Rickon Stark. I muffled his cries in the crook of my neck as I held him close, and he grew quiet when the guards first came through the crypts. Perhaps it was the Starks in stone that surrounded them who served as our protectors, or the chill damp that lingered, but guards never came close to us.   
“Rickon, you need to stay here, I am going to see what happened,” I instructed him.  
“No, I want to come with you,” he protested.  
I cupped his face with my scarred hand and said lowly, “Rickon, I will come back. I promise. Stay here and stay quiet.” I crept out of the crypts, and the bright white of the winter sky caused me to shield my eyes. I crouched low to the ground when I saw the soldiers that filled the courtyard.  
“Seize her!”   
Two pairs of hands gripped my arms, and I went on instinct from there. I kicked one soldier in his bandaged knee, and threw the wildling over my shoulder. I bared my teeth and reached for my long knives.  
“Don’t hurt her!” a young voice cried out.  
“Ri…Rickon?” Jon Snow sputtered, “How can it be?!”  
“Don’t hurt her, Jon,” the young Stark begged, threading himself around my leg.  
“Rickon, you don’t know who she is- she’s-” Jon began.   
“I do know. She’s a Targaryen. She saved me.” Rickon explained.  
Sansa and Jon shared a dubious look, before the latter approached me. Though I knew him to be family of little Rickon, I could not help but push the young Stark behind me as I served as a shield. Jon Snow came to a stop within arm’s reach of me, and he eyed me with somber, Stark grey, eyes.  
“Why did you protect him- a Stark?” he demanded softly.  
“Because enough innocent children have died- I could not save my family, but I will do whatever is in my power to protect yours,” I spoke.  
“How can I trust you?”  
“And how can I know the same for you?” I countered smoothly, and held one of my long knives to my palm, “I am prepared to make an oath, if you deem it necessary. I put my trust in you, a stranger, and I ask that you do the same.” We locked gazes for a time, but whatever Jon Snow saw in my violet eyes seemed to appease him.  
“Come here,” Jon urged Rickon, and drew him into his arms. Rickon let out a laugh, and that caused Sansa to smile. “Thank the gods, you’re safe…” Jon whispered into his brother’s hair.  
I waited in the great hall of Winterfell for Sansa and Jon to arrive, with Rickon as my shadow; the people of the North were eager to have yet another Stark return to their ancestral home. Rickon tugged on my shirt when the massive doors of the hall were pushed open to reveal Sansa and Jon Snow.  
“That is my father’s chair…” Sansa murmured, eyes sad and distant.  
I regarded her wordlessly. She seemed so delicate with the backdrop of the seat of power in the North. Jon Snow looked at me, but I paid him no heed. “And now it is yours,” I mused, “Winterfell is yours, Sansa.”  
“I am not my father- I am just a stupid girl with stupid dreams, who’ll never learn,” Sansa protested, and her Tully blue eyes filled with tears.   
“But you are your father’s daughter, and you will make him proud,” I urged.  
“Why are you helping me?” she demanded, “Why are you looking after my brother?”  
“A promise,” I confessed, “And I have broken one promise in my lifetime and I will not fail again.” 

I was sharpening my long knives in the weirwood tree, for I enjoyed the revered silence of the godswood. I put no faith or worship into any god- the Old Gods, the Seven, the Drowned God, the Many Faced God, or the God of R’hllor, but there was a presence that dwelled within these faced trees. I found solace in the crimson leaves- away from wary, Northern eyes. Beneath me, Sansa sat on an exposed root that served as a bench beneath me…staring out at the frozen pond. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw an unwelcome man approaching- Petyr Baelish.  
“Forgive me, my lady…if you are at prayer…” he began.  
“I’m done with all that,” Sansa dismissed, “I came here every day when I was a girl. I prayed to be somewhere else…back then, I only thought about what I wanted- never about what I had.” She rose to her feet, and continued, “I was a stupid girl.”  
“You were a child,” Petyr argued gently, to give her pause not to walk past him.  
Sansa looked at him for several moments. “What do you want?” she demanded softly.  
“I thought you knew what I wanted,” he remarked.  
“I was wrong.”  
“No, you weren’t. Every time I am faced with a decision, I close my eyes and see the same picture. Whenever I consider an action, I ask myself- will that action help to make this picture a reality? Pull it out of my mind, and into the world? And I only act if the answer is yes... A picture of me- on the Iron Throne…and you by my side,” he spoke lowly, leaning in closer as he continued on.  
I promised Jaime I would protect Sansa Stark; I knew Petyr Baelish served only himself, and for the betterment of his station and power. Sansa Stark was a means to an end for him, regardless of whatever sentiment he may claim to possess for the girl, and I would not let her be hurt by a man like him again. I made to jump down when he pressed forward, clearly intent on kissing her.  
Sansa took a breath and held him back with a hand. “It’s a pretty picture,” she mused, and gently pushed past him.  
His expression darkened before he schooled it once more. “News of this battle will spread quickly through the Seven Kingdoms- I’ve declared for House Stark for all to hear,” he pressed, hoping to get her to come back.  
“You declared for other houses, Lord Baelish, it’s never stopped from serving yourself,” she dismissed.  
“The past is gone for good. You can sit here mourning its departure, or…prepare for the future. You, my love, are the future of House Stark. Who should the North rally behind? Trueborn daughter of Ned and Catelyn Stark, born here at Winterfell, or a motherless-bastard born in the South?”  
Those words took root in Sansa- you could see it in the way her shoulders tensed and her whole body seemed to be weighed down with anticipation. However, she did not look back or say anything further as she left the godswood.  
I remained in my perch in my canopy until Sansa had gone out of range. I dropped down to land in front of Baelish when he turned to leave as well. He may not be a mark, but he was to die before his words could poison the Starks against each other.  
“Ah, the elusive Targaryen that I have heard so much about. You seem to be without your young Stark shadow today,” the man began, his dark eyes glittered.  
“Leave Sansa Stark alone.” I was through with niceties; I had heard of his continual betrayal to the Stark family and somehow, he had convinced Sansa to trust him. He took her away from King’s Landing, but he had his own agenda with that. This was a man, who never deviated from the plan that gave him exactly what he wanted. And I now knew what that was.  
“Forgive me, but I cannot help but be surprised that you would be so protective of a house that played part in the destruction of your own.”  
With a twitch of my hand, a long knife was pressed into Littlefinger’s throat. The glitter in his eye vanished. Good, let him feel the fear that his plan is over- that the picture he carries in his mind’s eye will never reach fruition. “I know men want one thing from a pretty girl. You will leave Winterfell, and you will not have Sansa Stark. It’s over, Baelish, winter is coming- and you will fail,” I vowed lowly.  
“We shall see, I will leave when Lady Sansa asks it of me.”  
“The North remembers, Petyr Baelish, and what Sansa does not remember- I will be there to remind her.”  
Littlefinger only smirked at me before taking his leave. I had confronted the self-proclaimed Mockingbird, one of the most dangerous people of Westeros. But I was not afraid; he knew how to play the game of thrones well, perhaps better than the legendary Tywin Lannister, but I never bothered to learn the wretched game. I killed, and that was all I knew how to do. He spun whatever pretty words would get him what he wanted, but he failed to understand one thing…  
Words hardly held back Valyrian steel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rickon's death killed me. One of the many "fix-it" aspects of this piece because I think that the Starks had suffered enough without losing the youngest of them.


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Wolf comforting the Dragon...

I thought of Jaime Lannister often, though I never told anyone- not even Sansa. I wondered if the Lion of Lannister had remembered that the most important thing during this war was keeping Myrcella safe. I wondered if he thought of me nearly as often as I did him. How did Cersei, the love of his life, treat him upon his return to King’s Landing from Dorne? Cersei Lannister was unlike her twin- calculating, where Jaime was reckless; power hungry where he was chivalrous; selfish, knowing that Jaime would give her everything to bring her happiness. But a shell of a woman of such monstrous caliber could never truly be happy.  
Sansa told me of her life before King’s Landing- of her life before her father lost his head. She told me of the Jaime Lannister she knew only from songs and the bits of information she would overhear from her father. Kingslayer, they called him, Oathbreaker. From that alone, I knew that losing his sword-hand was the best transformation he could have undergone. The heir to Winterfell told me of Joffrey’s cruelty, Cersei’s wickedness, Baelish’s betrayal…and the dying hope that her mother and brother would come to rescue her. I could understand why the young woman was slow to confide in me. Hope had been extended to her so many times in the past…  
It was when I held her in my arms as she woke herself screaming from a nightmare for the first time that Sansa began to realise I would never harm her. I had seen the scars, from Joffrey’s command, upon her body; I had seen the deception of Baelish dull her Tully eyes; the marks that stained Ramsay’s touch upon her forever; the strain of playing the game with the same men. She had been through enough.   
That night, I caught the very same blond serving girl that was outside Walder Frey’s quarters walking through the gates of Winterfell. She was slowly making her way to the Great Hall- where Jon, Sansa, and Rickon were seeing to the matters of the arrival of Daenerys Targaryen to Dragonstone. I was out of my seat without pause and caught her by the scruff of her collar.  
“Let me go!” she hissed, and reached for the thin sword at her side.  
I disarmed her, keeping hold of the weapon, and dragged the girl into the hall to the Starks. “Pardon my interruption, King Snow, but I recognised this girl from the Twins after I...met with Walder Frey. She was a serving girl, but it seems she might be something more. She tried to stick me with this,” I explained, and shoved the girl before Jon and held out her narrow blade.  
The King in the North’s eyes brightened, and then narrowed when they looked upon the girl. “Where did you get this?” he demanded softly.  
“It was given to me.”  
“Stolen, more like,” Sansa scoffed.  
The girl looked ready to retort, but instead she slowly stood up. “You gave me that sword, and I named it Needle. Because Sansa has her needles, but I have one of my own.” She reached a hand up to one side of her face and peeled the serving girl visage away like one would a cloak.  
“Arya?” Sansa gasped.  
She was a Stark- same long face, dark hair, and grey eyes. The missing Stark girl…alive after all these years. Tucked away in the House of Black and White. She did not wait for any ceremony before she threw herself into Jon’s arms. Sansa and Rickon rose from their seats and fell into the embrace.   
“Winter is coming,” I said.  
“Winter is coming!” the soldiers and free-folk cheered.  
I had not failed this family. A glance out of the corner of my eye told me that Petyr Baelish was not pleased at the addition of another sibling for Sansa- another person between him and the picture in his mind.  
It was time for the Mockingbird to be wrung.

“Surprised to find you out here.”  
I broke my gaze away from the pools in the godswood of Winterfell to see Jon Snow and his direwolf behind me. “I like this strange place,” I confessed softly. It was true; something about this place felt apart of touch and time…a place of memory that nothing could touch. Something about the liquid glass darkness of the pool beside the greatest of the weirwood trees lulled me to rest a while at its shores.  
“Are you another person angry with me for deciding to go to Dragonstone to meet with the Dragon Queen?”  
I admit, I felt ill at ease when news reached Winterfell that Daenerys Targaryen had returned to the place of her birth, to Dragonstone. Jon’s purpose to discuss terms and the mining of dragonglass from Dragonstone was good and selfless, but it was not without its dangers. Petyr Baelish remained at Winterfell, despite my best attempts to convince Sansa to send him away, and the lords of the north did not like idea of their king going south when his predecessor died there. “It is not my place,” I replied simply.  
“Sansa would say differently…” Jon murmured, his pewter eyes solemn as ever. He looked around the godswood before he added, “My family and I owe you a great debt.”  
“I will never ask for payment,” I protested.  
“Why did you do it? Kill Walder Frey? Save Rickon?” he pressed.  
I looked to the water of the pool once more, watching the flakes of snow disappear into nothingness the moment they touched its surface. My breath caught in the back of my throat when I saw silver-blonde tendrils bound by indigo ribbons flash across. Vairë. I flinched when a cold, wet nose pressed into my face. I jerked to regard the massive direwolf before me, its scarlet eyes meeting my violet.  
“It’s all right, Ghost won’t harm you,” Jon spoke lowly.  
I reached out a hesitant hand and slowly carded my fingers through Ghost’s thick fur. “I did it because of a promise. I failed a family once- I won’t let it happen a second time,” I finally answered the question that hung heavy in the air between us.  
“What happened to your own?”  
“I failed them…” I began faintly. I had kept these words- this tale- in my chest for so long; the words felt stale against winter’s chill. “My father willingly entered exile when Aerys thought he had intentions on the Iron Throne. My sister, Vairësellia, was younger than Rickon when we left Dragonstone, the only home we had known. But we knew our father was doing what was best for us…  
“During the Rebellion, my father refused Aerys’ call to arms when Rhaegar fell. I believe my father thought that by staying out of Robert’s Rebellion and remaining in Essos that Robert Baratheon would spare our lives… He was mistaken. The day I lost my family was supposed to be the happiest; my mother was in labour, and Father had asked my sister and me to fetch some water for the maesters attending her. We were leaving the well when I thought Vairë splashed the backs of my legs with water. Then I heard the pitcher shatter on the ground.  
“I was so angry with her. I spun around to scold her, but instead I saw a man with a short axe to my little sister’s throat. I begged for her life- that I would take her place if blood was called for…do you know what Vairë was saying the entire time? My name- my name, perhaps she believed that if she said it enough times that I would solve everything- because that was what I did. I looked after her. I promised our parents the day she was born that I would protect her from anyone and anything.  
“Our pleas held no effect on the man, and I was forced to watch as my sister’s head was hacked from her shoulders, her blood burned hot against my face- I thought I would bear the marks of its heat…” I trailed off as my halting tongue struggled to bear all to the King in the North, “I felt something take hold, and I killed the man…I went to find my mother and father, but the Usurper’s men had already reached them. I hid in the shadows and watched as my parents died.  
“They cut my mother open, untimely ripping my still-unborn sibling from her, and as she slowly died- she watched them murder her babe before they could draw breath. My father roared as he fought against the men restraining him, unleashing a cry I have yet to hear another human utter… my father met his end by wildfire. The men laughed- a dragon burning alive seemed to amuse them… They set my home ablaze and departed as thought nothing had happened. As if they had not brought to ruin a family that wished no ill-will to any of them or their kin.”  
“Renaerya-”  
“-And so, I made a promise that I would avenge my family. I care not for who sit on that damned chair- not when those who have reigned from it have only desired the ruination of the only thing I held dear,” I interjected, for now I had to let all of the words leave me, “I set aside Renaerya Targaryen, for that name had failed my sister, and become someone I did not recognise. I failed them, but I will not fail your family, Jon Snow. I will keep them safe while you are away.”  
Ghost nudged my head with his, and once more I combed my fingers through his warm coat. I was struck by how odd the picture of the three of us presented.  
The Wolf comforting the Dragon…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ren's backstory was something that was one of the first scenes to come to my plotbunny about this story. I hope I did her justice.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Mockingbird sings his last song.

Baelish played the game well, but there was something he underestimated.  
Sansa Stark.  
He did his best to get between Arya and Sansa, pitting them against each other as he had done to so many others- to the mirrors of the sisters he successfully tore apart. A part of me feared that his schemes would work…that somehow, he would break apart the few Starks that remained.   
I was with Rickon when I heard that Sansa had summoned her sister to the great hall; I took Rickon by the hand as we entered the great hall; the air was heavy, and all the lords of the North and the Vale were gathered around. Brandon and Sansa were already seated at the head table, and I guided Rickon to take his place on Sansa’s right. My eyes took in the grim faces around me and I had to fight the urge to grasp the hilts of my long knives.   
The doors leading from the courtyard opened, and Arya walked in with a soldier on each side. The sounds heard were the crackle of the hearth and the boots of the soldiers shutting the door. Arya idly watched from over her shoulder, then regarded the armed men all about her. Words clawed at the back of my throat as the scene played out before; I wanted to speak out, but who was I to these men in comparison to the Lady of Winterfell?  
No One.  
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Arya asked, calm, with her hands clasped behind her back.  
“It’s not what I want. It’s what honour demands,” Sansa replied.  
“And what does honour demand?”  
How could Arya be so detached when it seemed that her life was to be forfeit?  
“That I defend my family from those who would harm us. That I defend the North from those who would betray us…”  
I saw Baelish’s dark eyes gleam as he took in the spectacle before us, and I again I stayed my hand from drawing my blades. If Arya was to die, then the Mockingbird would die the same night. Rickon, too young to predict the near future, was ill at ease; he turned in his seat to look at me- those Tully eyes wide as he squirmed. I drew closer to the young boy, but said nothing even when he grasped at my tunic.  
Arya’s grey eyes glanced at Littlefinger before she returned her attention to Sansa. “All right then. Get on with it.”  
“You stand accused of murder. You stand accused of treason. How do you answer these charges… Lord Baelish?”  
The breath was pushed out of me from relief that Baelish’s advantageous plot had failed. All eyes in the great hall shifted from the Stark sisters to look at the Mockingbird; the Lord of the Vale momentarily looked surprised, saying nothing and looking at those who looked back at him.  
Arya smirked as she softly called out, “My sister asked you a question.”  
“Lady Sansa, forgive me…” he began, hoarse, “I’m a bit confused.”  
“Which charges confuse you? Let me start with the simplest one. You murdered our aunt, Lysa Arryn. You pushed her through the moon door and watched her fall. Do you deny it?”  
Littlefinger looked at Lord Royce of the Vale, whose grim features set the former ill at ease. “I did it to protect you,” he supplied.  
“You did it to take power in the Vale. Earlier, you conspired to murder Jon Arryn. You gave Lysa the Tears of Lys to poison him. Do you deny it?”  
Baelish’s head nervously ticked, before he seemed to gain a part of himself back. “Whatever your aunt may have told you,” he began, coming away from the wall to take centre in the hall before Sansa, “She was a troubled woman. She imagined enemies everywhere!”  
“You had Aunt Lysa send a letter to our parents telling them it was the Lannisters who murdered Jon Arryn when really it was you. The conflict between the Starks and the Lannisters- it was you who started it. Do you deny it?”  
Littlefinger’s head tilted as he lied, “I know of no such letter.”  
“You conspired with Cersei Lannister and Joffrey Baratheon to betray our father, Ned Stark. Thanks to your treachery, he was imprisoned and later executed on false charges of treason. Do you deny it?” Sansa demanded, her eyes blazing bright.  
“I deny it,” Baelish challenged. He turned about to address the lords as he paced, “None of you were there- to see what happened! None of you knows the truth!”  
“You held a knife to his throat,” Brandon Stark mused, and I saw Baelish tense as the truth was to be made known. He turned on his heel to regard the young man. “You said, ‘I did warn you not to trust me,’” the Three-Eyed Raven finished.  
“You told our mother this knife belonged to Tyrion Lannister. But that was another one of your lies,” Arya added, drawing the Valyrian dagger from its sheath at her hip, “It was yours.”  
The caged Mockingbird turned to face Sansa and grew uneasy at the cold faces looking back at him. He strode toward the table, but I interceded. His dark eyes flicked to my face, and then my hand on the hilt of one of my blades. “Lady Sansa,” he said over my shoulder, “I have known you since you were a girl. I have protected you-”  
“-Protected me?” Sansa repeated derisively, “By selling me to the Boltons?”  
Littlefinger made to brush past me, but whisper of Valyrian steel in the air stilled him. “If we could speak alone… I can explain everything,” the man urged.  
“Sometimes when I am trying to understand a person’s motives, I play a little game… I assume the worst. What’s the worse reason you have for turning me against my sister? That’s what you do, isn’t it? That’s what you’ve always done- turned family against family, turned sister against sister. That’s what you did to our mother and Aunt Lysa, and that’s what you tried to do to us.”  
Arya strolled to Baelish’s side, an action the latter did not notice. “Sansa, please,” Littlefinger pleaded.  
“I’m a slow learner, it’s true. But I learn.”  
“Give me a chance to defend myself,” Baelish rasped, “I deserve that.”  
Sansa said nothing but leaned back into the seat of her father as she dispassionately regarded the Mockingbird before her.  
Petyr Baelish spun on his heel to address Lord Royce. “I am Lord Protector of the Vale and I command you to escort me safely back to the Eyrie,” he demanded.  
“I think not,” Lord Royce dismissed.  
When the Mockingbird found no empathy or mercy in the eyes of the lords around him, he fell to his knees. “Sansa,” he began, voice panicked and pitched, “I beg you! I’ve loved your mother since the time I was a boy.”  
“And yet you betrayed her,” Sansa remarked coldly.  
“I loved you,” he groaned, and halted, “More than anyone!”  
“And yet you betrayed me… When you brought me back to Winterfell, you told me there’s no justice in the world- not unless we make it,” Sansa replied, rising to her feet and sharing a look with Arya. Baelish’s eyes were on the younger Stark as Sansa finished, “Thank you for all your many lessons, Lord Baelish, I will never forget them.”  
I pulled Rickon from his chair to hide his face in my tunic as Arya approached Littlefinger. I cupped the back of his head and threaded my fingers through his curls.  
“Sansa-” Baelish beseeched, but his words were replaced with the sound of steel parting flesh. He gasped wetly, bring a hand to his open throat, still trying to find the words that would redeem him in her eyes… to give life to one last lie. He slumped to the floor as we all looked on.   
“Come away, little lord,” I urged Rickon, guiding him out of the great hall. Regardless of the boy’s past, he should never learn to grow accustomed to bloodshed. Ghost padded after us, and fortunately provided distraction from Rickon’s inquiries as to what had occurred in the great hall. I watched the direwolf and the boy gamble about in the snow, and a gentle smile curled my lips when Rickon threw his arms around Ghost’s neck to collapse into the snow.  
“He reminds you of Vairësellia,” Brandon mused from my side, “Just like Myrcella does.”  
I bit back the demand as to how he knew of my sister, for who could hide anything from the Three-Eyed Raven? I simply kept my eyes on the youngest Stark as he frolicked with his brother’s direwolf.  
“You would have had a brother.”  
Those simple words broke me. I clenched my teeth to keep the keening groan from spilling past my lips. Brandon idly looked on, watching his brother as though he were a stranger. But how could seeing so much in one lifetime not change someone? I would have had a brother… what would my parents have named him? Aenar, after my father? No…my father was not a prideful man. Perhaps after one of the dragon lords from before the Doom.  
Brandon Stark left after a time, and Rickon grew tired. His eyes blinked owlishly, long and slow, as he trudged up to me. I took the young boy by the hand.  
“Ren?” he asked sleepily.  
“Yes?”  
“Why don’t you have a family?”  
“What has your Maester told you about the House of Targaryen?”  
“They fought each other, and my father went to war against the Mad King… all Targaryens died. Does that mean my father killed your family?” The heartbreak in the boy’s eyes made me feel a keen ache in my chest.  
“No, little lord, your father did not kill my family…” I assured him faintly, and nearly toppled over when the young boy threw his arms around me. 

That evening, I sent out a raven to the Brotherhood Without Banners.  
A Mockingbird sung its last mimicry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anybody laugh when Baelish FINALLY died?! *Unrepentant raised hand* Kudos to those who joined me in my messed up sense of glee.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A meeting and a reunion...with fire and blood.

_Jaime Lannister has left his men and disappeared… Some say he left to bring Sansa’s head to Cersei, but more claimed that the crippled Lion of Lannister fled to Sothoryos to escape Daenerys Targaryen, who was going to win the war._

Jaime would not harm Sansa; he made a vow to Catelyn Stark, and Sansa Stark was his last chance for honour. _Something- someone- had lured him away from joining the upcoming war_ … _and I would find out whom._ Last I heard, he had left the capital alone…coming north to fight the army of the dead. And by doing so, he would have had to travel through lands occupied by the Brotherhood without Banners- led by the Merciless Mother, Lady Stoneheart.

He left Myrcella with Cersei, and that was what invoked my wrath to take pursuit of him; by trying to take up arms in the Great War, he left his daughter at the mercy of her demented mother. I would find him, so that I had the distinct pleasure of using his guts for garters for breaking his promise to protect Myrcella.

“I am coming with you,” Sansa argued.

“Your duty is to Winterfell and your people, you cannot come with me,” I dismissed as I laced my vambraces, “There must always be a Stark in Winterfell. You will be safe while I am gone. Your brother will be heading north with Daenerys Targaryen to fight the Night King and his army of the dead. He bent the knee, but you are still Lady of Winterfell. You must remain here to look after your people. Winter is here.”

“If this Lady Stoneheart is my mother, then I must see her. Ren, I have not seen her in so long… If my mother is somehow still here- I must see her. Don’t you understand? Bran, Arya, and Rickon will be here- there will always be a Stark in Winterfell.” 

I understood all too well. _What would I do if, by some higher power, one of my family members returned to me?_ I would go through seas of blood and dragonfire if it gave me Vairë back. “At the first sign of danger, you will turn back. Any argument- I will tie you to your horse like a sack of wheat. Is anything unclear?” I murmured coolly.

“I understand.”

* * *

The journey south was slow going, even along a road such as the Kingsroad. Walls of snow surrounded us at all times; the icy blood of the northerners seemed to be quite at ease. The same could not be said for me. The thick cloak of winter left the world too quiet; the silence put me on edge. Such lack of noise never served as a fortuitous omen.

“We will reach the hollow hill by sundown,” I announced lowly, and motioned for the men to ride closer to Sansa. Something was not right. The ivory of the weirwood and the porcelain snow around us seemed like winter had leeched all colour from this part of the world. I placed a hand on the hilt of one of my long knives as my eyes scanned the trail in front of us.

Snow dropped from one tree and I reined my horse about. “Get Sansa ou-” I cried.

An arrow screamed through the still air and buried itself into one man’s throat. The dead man’s horse let out a shrill cry and reared, throwing the warm corpse from the saddle, and bolted. I flung myself out of the saddle and sprinted to Sansa. “Stay down,” I hissed, pulling her from the saddle, “And run on my signal.” The other northerner fell, his body pricked by what seemed to be a dozen arrow shafts. I pulled Sansa behind me as I crouched low to the ground.

“What kind of captor fails to tie up their prisoner?” a man called out, and dropped from a nearby tree. The man, despite his absurd yellow cloak, possessed a ferocity about him. His men followed his silent command, came out of hiding, and surrounded us. “Why do you hold Lady Sansa of House Stark captive?”

“I am not her prisoner,” Sansa protested.

“You should know the tale has already been written before,” another said, “A Targaryen takes a Stark- only this time it won’t take a war to get her back.”

Sansa’s hand shot out to take hold of mine. _I was supposed to keep her safe…_ I bared my teeth at the man in the yellow cloak as he approached me.

“Another mad Targaryen- I thought King Robert had seen to that problem. Yet it seems, the last of the Targaryen bloodline is coming out of from the rocks they slithered under.” He drew the knife from his belt, and brought it up to my throat. “Are you afraid, little dragon?” he wondered, pressing the steel into my flesh slowly.

Sansa pulled me away from him, and stepped between us. “No harm shall come to Renaerya. She saved my life, murdered Walder Frey, and saw to my youngest brother’s safety upon my brother’s and my reclaiming of Winterfell,” she ordered, eyes bright, “You will take us to Lady Stoneheart…now.”

“She’s a Stark, all right,” a soldier chuckled, “Saw a bit of your father just then on that Tully face o’ yers. Come on, Lem, our lady is waiting.”

“The Targaryen’s hands- bind them,” Lem grunted.

After they did so, Sansa and I were led the remaining distance to the hollow hill. I took in the sentries that dotted the riverlands around us with my head bowed. The mouth of the cave forced us to enter single-file and I could hear the fire crackling in the center of the cave. The air smelled of rotten earth and smoke. The first person I took notice of was a great brute of a woman with hair the colour of straw, Brienne of Tarth. But then, I saw who stood bound beside her. I surged forward to rush to his side, but Lem grabbed me by the coil of my braid. I winced, but that was snuffed out by the sounds of the bells chiming in my hair- they rang as loud as broken glass in a sept.

“Ren! Don’t hurt her, please!” Sansa cried, and tried to pull me away from him, even though her hands were bound, too.

Jaime’s head shot up at the sound of my name, and he clambered to his feet from his knees. Brienne placed a hand on his shoulder to stop him, and Jaime regarded her coldly. “What is the meaning of this?!” he hissed, “What is she doing here?”

Guilt flooded Brienne’s eyes, and I understood why Jaime was surprised. “She betrayed you,” I concluded softly, “What happened to loyalty, Brienne of Tarth? What of honour?”

“That’s enough chatter,” Lem grunted, and shoved me into the light cast by the fire. “My lady, we have found your daughter in the company of this Targaryen bastard. Lady Sansa claims the bitch returned Winterfell to House Stark after murdering Frey before the defeat of the Boltons. Claims she saved her youngest brother’s life.”

The proud figure stood amidst the tangle of roots from the weirwood above ground; she held a cloak close around her throat, but left her face visible. Her face was soft from days spent floating in the river when her body had been dumped into after the Red Wedding. She did not speak, but her murky eyes of a Tully condemned all. _The North remembers._ I stepped between Lady Stoneheart and Sansa to shield the latter. Lines of black blood were etched into the living corpse’s face, a testament of when she raked her face with her own nails as her firstborn was murdered before her.

“Lady Catelyn, I know what you are feeling. I remember every wrong that happened to my family with such a clarity that will bring me to my knees and I will bleed from it before the end of all things. Think of Lord Eddard- Ned- your husband…would he wish such wanton death? Spare Jaime Lannister, for he has not broken his vow to you. He goes north to fight alongside the men of the North against the Night King’s army of the dead. He sent me in his place to protect her. Release him, and let us take Sansa back to Winterfell. A Stark must always be at Winterfell.”

Lady Stoneheart raised her hand to silence me, and turned to look at Lem. Her eyes saw me and how they hated. The man strode to her side and faced me. When Lady Stoneheart shook her head, he announced, “You both will die.”

“Sansa, run to Jaime,” I ordered, and used my teeth to break free of the tattered bindings.

“Mother! Mother, please-” Sansa implored, eyes filling with tears.

“-Your mother is dead,” I snarled, “ _Run to Jaime._ ” I dove to the ground to avoid the spear that intended to gut me like the Usurper, Robert Baratheon. I drew my blades and slashed them through the soldier’s thin leather. 

Two more of the Brotherhood advanced; I threw one long knife into the knee of the first, and charged the other. I took hold of him by the shoulder and spun him about, then drove my blade down the nape of his neck. I twisted the blade into the delicate bone and sinew; the body twitched when I stiffly withdrew my blade, his blood spattered across my face.

“Please,” the crippled soldier beseeched, trying to crawl away from me.

My blood burned as I straddled his lap. I reached behind me to yank my knife out of its resting place in his knee; his blood painted my hand, and I flashed a feral grin. I slammed both blades into his chest, and a tremor of his last breath that seized in his chest traveled up the lengths of my steel. A hand wound around my plait and hauled me off the dead man. I leaned into my attacker, dancing away from the swing meant to open my throat from ear to ear. I hooked my foot around his ankle; I took his balance from him and pounced. He brought up a gauntlet-encased fist and struck me across the face.

My lip split, nearly down to the curve of my chin, and I licked the blood. “Now you’ve woken the dragon,” I crooned into the man’s ear. With the caress befitting a lover, I took his face between my hands…and snapped his neck. I smiled at the sound of grinding bone, and the limp heap beneath me as I rose to my feet. I retrieved my long knives from the other corpse, and then turned to face Lem and Lady Stoneheart.

“Who else will you order to kill me? Is this how you repay a debt- by gutting the debtee? We killed the treacherous Mockingbird! Petyr Baelish paid for his betrayal to you and your family,” I demanded, arms outstretched in challenge. The Valyrian steel of my long knives gleamed wickedly beneath their dripping coat of scarlet. Lady Stoneheart did not stir; her eyes blazed, but mine burned just as bright. “I will not stop until I reclaim what is mine- with fire and blood, I will take him,” I vowed.

Lady Stoneheart shifted her cold gaze to Brienne and raised her hand to point a crooked finger at Jaime. The hairs on my arms stood on end. My twin blades dropped to the ground at the same time as Jaime’s iron manacles. My head bowed, but the shadows of the Brotherhood flickered in my field of vision; however, I remained taut like a drawn bowstring. My scarlet-soaked hands hung limply at my sides and I tried to calm my thundering heart.

**_A debt has been repaid._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of the larger disappointments that I had for the show was that D & D never brought in Lady Stoneheart. This character fascinates me and I hope that Martin brings her to the forefront of his plotline for the series.


	9. Chapter Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An understanding is reached... 
> 
> Note: This one is a larger chapter because I forgot to add the transition dialogue/scene to the previous chapter. Enjoy!

The words hung unspoken in the air, but I knew. I knew that the service of giving Lady Stoneheart the vengeance from Petyr Baelish’s treachery, the traitor who had begun the ruin of her family, had spared Jaime his life. A life for a life; the debt was paid.

“Ren?” Sansa called out tremulously, flanked by Brienne.

My hair whipped into my face as I snapped my head to regard the latter coldly. She was at least three heads taller than me, but that meant nothing.

“You brought him here to have him killed!” I seethed, and my hand twitched to take my dagger into its grasp. I stepped closer and the dragon in my chest reared its head.

“I did not think that Lady Stoneheart and her men would bring him to harm,” Brienne protested.

“You thought wrong then! You’re a fool to believe whatever lie your damned fucking honour convinced you to in order to betray him!”

“It isn’t about honour anymore- there is an army of the dead marching south, and I thought that convinving Lady Stoneheart to let the Brotherhood march north with Ser Jaime and I-”

“-Seven hells to what you thought the Merciless Mother would do! She knows what Jaime did- and all she sees when she looks at him is an oathbreaker for not looking after Sansa. Your sense of honour nearly had the both of you killed!”

“Renaerya, enough.” A solitary hand combed through my matted hair until the silver waves tinged red tumbled freely to the small of my back. “You’ve done enough,” Jaime continued.

“Come away, Lady Sansa,” Brienne urged.

“I’m not leaving Ren,” Sansa dismissed.

“I would like some privacy,” Jaime murmured.

Even after Brienne and Sansa had left, Jaime did not say anything. I cleaned the blood off my long knives with snow, but let the scarlet stain and dry on my hands. _I had saved him- it was over._ The blood would dry and chafe my hands, but I would not mind, much. My heaving breath puffed through the cool air of the cave; I sheathed my blades, and my hands clenched into fists as I brought them over my eyes. My body trembled in the stillness around me, and I fought to get myself under control.

“Renaerya.”

“Please- don’t,” I begged brokenly, snapping my covered eyes shut.

Jaime closed the remaining distance, and spun me around to face him. “Why did you come for me?” he urged, and pulled my hands away from my face, “I am one of the names- I am a mark upon your flesh. Why save me when I am fated to die?”

I stared at the blood that dripped off my hand and trailed down his golden one. I had spilt blood for the name _Jaime Lannister_ upon my back…the mark needed to be crossed through.

_Love is the death of duty._

“Answer me.”

“I could not watch you die,” I confessed faintly.

“Why?” he demanded.

“I cannot,” I mumbled.

“Say it,” Jaime ordered, and he tangled his hand of flesh in my blood-soaked hair. His green eyes trapped my violet, and mine burned with a telling gleam. He had changed me, and he realised that now. “Renaerya, you must say it,” he prompted, voice gentle.

“Because you have broken the heart of the killer…You are mine, and I am yours, Jaime Lannister.” I grew angry then, and my voice made it quite apparent. My sweaty brow rested against his chest and I pounded my fist against him. “You could have died, Jaime! After trying to get you to be free from that bitch’s claws…she had gotten to you again,” I mumbled, and my voice shook. I had only been this vulnerable once before, and the reality that I was again unnerved me.

“Come away,” Jaime urged, and led me by the hand to where Brienne and Sansa waited. The former and I shared a vehement glare, but my attention drifted to Sansa as she darted up to me.

“Ren, you’re _bleeding_ ,” Sansa worried, her eyes bright.

“I’m fine,” I assured her softly, wiping at my bleeding lip, then cupping the side of her face. My gut twisted at the sight of her milky skin beneath my scarlet touch.

“Lady Sansa, we must return to Winterfell,” Brienne announced.

“Upon whose decision are you ordered to protect Sansa?” I demanded, “From my understanding, you betrayed the man who saved you from being raped. By what duty binds you to her? And how long can I expect for you to betray her like you did Jaime?”

“My oath to her mother.”

“Renaerya,” Jaime began to protest.

I stepped close to her large stature, and I knew the tell-tale gleam of a mad Targaryen burned in my eyes. “I do not care, Brienne of Tarth, that Jaime so adamantly declares for you. If you ever give me the inclination that you will harm him or Sansa- I will open you from your belly to your brain and feed you your intestines.”

“Ren!” Sansa exclaimed.

“Understood,” Brienne said, eyes cold like steel.

“Let’s leave- now…please,” Sansa begged softly.

“We will ride until we reach the first inn we can find,” I assured her, pulling the cowl of her cloak over her scarlet hair and tugged the furs close to her face. “You were brave today, Sansa,” I praised, smiling gently.

She threw her arms around me, and I hastily returned the action. It was then I realised she was trembling; I ran a soothing hand up and down the length of her back until her quivering ceased. Sansa had endured much in such a short life, but kindness was her armour and courtesy her shield…and I, I would be her blade.

“Come along,” I urged, and walked her to a tethered horse. I helped her into the saddle and I flinched when her hand shot out to grasp my wrist fiercely.

“What happened to my mother?” she wondered.

“I do not know for certain, but to my knowledge that shadow bears your mother’s pain as one would don a cloak. Sansa, it will do you no good to linger over what happened this night…That was not your mother, so do not dwell upon that shell. Your mother loved you-”

“-Then why did she not save me? She and Robb could have bargained me for _him_. They could have protected me from Joffrey, from the Queen. Why didn’t she save me, Ren?”

“Because she couldn’t, and that destroyed a part of her. She lived with that guilt of leaving you, and it remains in the Lady Stoneheart. Sansa, do not hold onto any resentment you may have for your family…anger will give you nothing.” I gently pulled my arm out of her grasp, and went over to the remaining horse, “It is better to hold onto the love within memories than the pain.”

“You are hurt,” Jaime observed lowly.

“I’m fine- we must leave this damned place before Lady Stoneheart shows us why she is called the Merciless Mother,” I grunted, and urged my horse into a trot.

* * *

“Renaerya?” Jaime called through the door. I heard the click of the latch followed by the sounds of Jaime’s footfalls. I kept my eyes fixed upon my bent knees above the water; my body tense.

Jaime sat beside me on the stool where an inn-maid had tried to occupy after she drew my bath, but I had chased her off. He hissed when he dipped his hand into the water. “It’s boiling, you’ll get burned. Come out of the bath.”

I mutely shook my head; I had sent the maid away for saying almost exactly what Jaime had uttered, but I could not bring myself to do the same to him. Did he not know a dragon could not burn?

“Renaerya?” Jaime wondered.

“I had not felt like this in years,” I confessed softly, “I was afraid, Jaime.” My eyes snapped shut on their own volition, and I heard him dip a linen into the hot water. The cloth ran down the curve of my spine, washing away the smearing of blood that still stained my hair. I shivered when he combed my hair over my shoulder with his hand of gold- it felt like ice. His hand of flesh traced over the name recently scratched through…his own.

“Will you be taking my life?” he asked softly.

“No, the Jaime Lannister that helped bring ruin to my family died…and I am taking your life as my own. I cannot lose you, Jaime,” I professed.

“Yet, you cannot bear to look at me.”

My head snapped to the side, violet and emerald clashed. “I will never be Cersei,” I stated ruthlessly, “I will not pretend to be the lioness.”

“You’re right. You will never be her,” Jaime agreed, and he cupped a side of my burning face. “Why would I want the lioness…when I have the dragon? You are Renaerya Targaryen, firstborn of Aenar Targaryen, and you will never fall to the lowly title of Cersei Lannister. I left Cersei because she turned her back on the only war that matters- between the living and the dead. I rode north because I want to be at your side- fighting with you- protecting Sansa Stark. I gave Jon Snow and Daenerys Targaryen my word that I would help them in the fight against the dead. I need you at my side.” He leaned over the lip of the tub, and at first, I began to lean away from his advance. But the fluttering tattoo of my heart kept me still. Jaime’s lips twitched when he saw my brow furrowed in my confusion but said nothing. His lips pressed gently against mine, and my breath caught in my chest.

His fingers tangled in my wet hair as he kissed me fervently. I blindly followed his lead, ravenous for his lips upon mine. He tilted his head, and I felt his tongue dart out to trace the swell of my bottom lip…catching some of the blood that still wept from my cracked lip. I gasped when he suddenly hauled me out of the bath into his arms; my legs clumsily wrapped around his lean waist, holding me to him. I broke the kiss to regard him. I cradled his face between my hands, dragging my thumbs back and forth across his stubble-rough cheeks. I trailed my hands down to his shoulders, and then caught his bottom lip carefully between my teeth.

“Renaerya,” Jaime groaned, and staggered backwards, with me safely encircled by his arms, until the backs of his knees hit the edge of the narrow bed. He buried his face into the damp skin between my breasts, and my pulse faltered when he suckled on my nipple.

My hand sought purchase in his golden hair and the other clenched the wool bedcover beside his head; I cradled his strong frame between my thighs. I blindly unbuckled his golden hand and threw it to the side- only just hearing the sound of it hitting the floor over the roaring tide of blood in my ears. My body tensed like a drawn bowstring when Jaime pushed his breeches down his strong thighs then thrust inside me. He flipped us over so that he was above me and all I saw.

“Renaerya,” he moaned, his head dropped to the crook of my neck.

A treacherous tear slipped out of the corner of my eye and was lost in my hair. My muscles fluttered and protested around the foreign intrusion of his cock. My thighs squeezed Jaime’s hips, which caused him to raise his head. His burning eyes gentled to a simmer, and he brushed away the shining trail left by the tear. He brushed his lips against my trembling eyelids before capturing my tense lips. He raised himself onto his forearms, peeled off his tunic, and then slowly began to ease out of my burning sleeve. My toes curled at the unfamiliarity that sparked through my entire being when he pushed inside me once more; it was a consuming anomaly, and Jaime led me through it all. He soothed my fumblings with tender worship; he knew when to slam into my yielding flesh and when to ease me through the over-whelming unknown.

My back arched under his deft ministrations; my stiff nipples scraped deliciously against his dusting of chest hair. I held him closer as a fire burned hot and deep within me. Each pant and moans that tumbled past our lips fueled the inferno. I, a Targaryen, was being consumed by fire.

“Jaime!” I cried out, and the coil low in my belly shattered as Jaime continued to surge inside me. My muscles contracted to the precipise of being unbearable, but then I simply faded. I fell into the mattress as I fought to remember how to breathe. Jaime’s hips snapped once, twice, and then I felt the peculiar sensation of his seed filling me. I cradled him and let him roll us onto our sides. I scrunched my nose when some of his spend trickled out of my quivering sleeve and trailed sluggishly down my inner thighs. I carded my fingers through Jaime’s hair as I looked at his face.

“Renaerya,” Jaime mumbled, pillowing his head with my breast.

_I love you_. I smiled into the dimming light.

* * *

I awoke to find myself cloaked by him; one arm looped over my hips and the other cocooned between my breasts. My thighs were sticky with blood and the remnants of Jaime’s seed…parts of me ached. I slowly turned over to face Jaime, who slept on. I brushed a golden strand out of his face. “Jaaneman,” I murmured, and brushed his lips against his.

His eyes flickered beneath their lids and then one crack open. He slurred an attempt of a smile, and raised his right arm. His scarred wrist bumped against my face and I watched his eyes dim.

I rolled on top of him, grimacing faintly at the twinge between my legs, and took hold of his stump. “Who are you, Jaaneman?” I pressed softly.

“Jaime Lannister.”

“I do not love the right hand of Jaime Lannister, but the man. I would not travel through winter in the North for a mere hand. A mere hand would not cut through the mark.”

His response was to pepper what parts of my body he could reach with lingering kisses. I took hold of his hard member that nudged my belly, and eased him into my burning body. My head snapped back as my spine arched, my bells chimed in my hair, and Jaime’s hand sought purchase on my hip. It felt like a small death…a taste of eternity. Jaime surged within me, teeth bared, and growled, “What does Juhna- whatever-? Fuck! Mean?” I hesitated to answer; the survivor in me held the words from my tongue.

Jaime flipped us, so that his body covered mine. His fingers tangled in my sweaty tendrils as his emerald eyes bore into my violet. “Renaerya,” he urged. His hips stilled, but he remained sheathed inside me.

“My father…he called my mother it…it means ‘soul of me.’”

He responded by consuming my body with the same fire that pillaged my blood the night before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How is it that I have sex, yet the biggest challenge is writing it?! For Ren, I wanted the scene to be about what she knows in a situation she had never been in...fire, blood, and steel.


	10. Chapter Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Return to Winterfell

Brienne of Tarth remained in Winterfell as we all awaited the return of Jon Snow with the Dragon Queen, Daenerys Targaryen. The northern lords grew restless; the oncoming war against the army of the dead and the arrival of a Targaryen set them on edge. The last time a Targaryen had come north, the King in the North, Torrhen Stark, became the King Who Kneeled. And Sansa… Sansa had become the uncrowned Queen in the North, who led her people with a surety that could not be ignored.

I stood behind her, shadowing her and Rickon, as she held court to discuss the preparations for supplying an army for when the Great War fell upon the Seven Kingdoms whilst not letting the people starve. The northerners grumbled when any of the lord of the Vale offered their opinion, but that was to be expected.

I was pulled out of the lull I had let my mind wander into at the sudden silence and tension that filled the great hall. My eyes sought out the only form moving, which turned out to be Jaime. He was approaching Sansa, a determined gleam in his eyes, and I saw that many northern lords and knights gripped their swords.

“Lady Sansa,” the Lion of Lannister greeted, bowing to the Lady of Winterfell.

“Ser Jaime.”

Murmurs broke out from all the lords when Jaime bent the knee before Sansa, drawing his sword to place it as custom dictated. “Lady Sansa of House Stark, I gave your brother my word that I would aid in the defense of the realm against the dead that marched from north of the Wall. My sword is yours from this day until my last day.”

“Kingslayer…”

“Oathbreaker…”

“Man without honour.”

I recalled a time when Jaime had demanded that I call him by those names. Perhaps, at that time, they suited him…but Jaime was becoming; whether he was becoming a better man, who was free from his sister’s claws, or someone else that was not in my right to decide. I recalled a time when Jaime told me that Sansa Stark was his last chance for honour; it was then I knew that he would not forsake this vow.

“By what right does the wolf judge the lion?” I demanded softly.

The murmurers fell silent at my words, and I felt their condemnation fall upon me. Sansa leaned over to converse softly with Bran, whose reply I could not hear over the blood pounding in my ears. I felt the dragon rear in my chest, but I would not raise my hand to the sworn men of the North. I had a greater purpose than to kill those who would kill me. I deferred to Sansa’s judgement in that regard.

Sansa straightened in her seat as her eyes looked down at Jaime. “By coming north, you have turned against your sister. Why should I trust you not to turn from me?” she asked.

“When your brother brought that… _thing_ to King’s Landing, I realised it wasn’t about who was on whose side anymore, my lady. It’s about the living defeating the dead… and the vow I made to your mother when she released me. I swore an oath to protect Catelyn Stark’s daughters, and I sent Renaerya and Brienne to do that for me- but it is time I kept my word by my own doing.”

“I vow that you shall always have a place by my hearth and meat and mead at my table. I pledge to ask no service of you that may bring you dishonor. I swear it by the old gods and the news,” Sansa announced, “Arise, Ser Jaime.”

* * *

I could tell that I was not the only one watching Jaime train; idly, I flicked my eyes around the courtyard and found a shadow within the broken tower. I left Rickon, who was watching Jaime and pelting him with countless questions. I made my way over the tower where Brandon Stark fell and began his transformation to the Three Eyed Raven. So far, the shadow had not moved from its position.

“Is he on your list?” I asked Arya as I came into the exposed room. I came up to her side, and we watched Jaime spar with one of the northerners.

“Sansa told you,” she surmised.

“I had a list of my own,” I continued, “I hope you did not take the same approach as I did in remembering them.”

“He isn’t, but he’s still a Lannister,” Arya mused, her tone giving nothing away. I envied her in that; her tutelage under the Faceless Men at the House of Black and White enabled her to possess such a control over her emotions she gave nothing away unless she wanted to.

“Yes, but the Jaime Lannister that pushed your brother from this very tower and who fought with your father in the streets of the capital is not the one we are looking at now,” I replied, “I don’t think you will lose sleep over allowing a second Lannister to survive.” Her eyes shifted, but only just, and I continued. “You were Tywin Lannister’s cup bearer…you were in his company many times over during your brief tenure at Harrenhal. But you did not kill him or have the Faceless Man you met kill him either. You cared for him, in your own way – as I am sure he did you. That did not change that he was on your list. Do not harm Jaime Lannister, or you shall face me.”

“Does he always have you fighting in his place?” Arya challenged softly.

“No, but he does for the ones that matter,” I dismissed, “I think that you would be surprised to fight someone who also knows the dance.”

“Where did you learn?”

“During my stay in Braavos…it was one the first places I journeyed to after my family was murdered.”

“I would love to train with you, then,” Arya concluded, before she blended into the shadows.

* * *

I left Rickon, who decided to follow Arya around, and made my way into the godswood. I walked to the heart tree and knelt at the pool’s edge. I looked into the ebony waters, coils of steam rising up to dance before dissipating into the void. My hands clenched into fists when I was taunted by images of silver blonde hair with indigo ribbons, the mirage teasing the edges of my vision. It was like chasing smoke; each time my eyes tried to focus on my sister’s image, she slipped further away.

Her laughter filled the chill air.

“Renaerya?”

I ignored Jaime’s call, leaning forward to look deeper into the pool. _Let me see her, one last time, please_ …

The hairs on the back of my neck and arms stood on end as the grind of a whetstone against steel sounded around me, and the teasing whispers of my sister vanished.

“Renaerya, come away from the water,” Jaime urged.

“I see her in this place,” I argued faintly, not looking away from the water, “I see my sister. She always talked of how she wanted to see snow, but my sister was a Summer Child…one who would never endure the cold.”

“Your sister is gone-”

“-Not from these hands,” I groaned, holding out my trembling fingers. Her name carved into my flesh shone brightly from the grey skies above us. For a brief moment, I saw my hands stained scarlet once more. “Nearly sixteen years, and she still haunts me…though her face is being taken from memory by time…”

“The past has already been written, Renaerya, the ink has run dry-”

“-But the blood of my sister will never from these hands…these _weak_ hands,” I gasped, clenching the aforementioned into fists.

Jaime pulled me to my feet and took me into his arms. “You cannot take blame when you were only a child yourself,” he argued softly.

“It should have been me.”

“You are not the Three-Eyed Raven, or whatever Brandon Stark has laid claim to. You cannot change the past, Renaerya. You are here because you are strong. You did what so many Houses failed to do- you survived and you conquered,” Jaime murmured lowly, “And that is what your family would have wanted.”

I rested my head on his chest, and took a deep breath that caused my lungs to ache. I curled my fingers into the thick furs shielding him from the chill. “But am I who they wished me to be?” I asked faintly.

“Perhaps, but that is something you will never know…and have to accept it.”

“Ren! Sansa is summoning all the lords to the great hall!” Arya called out.

“What could be happening in the world now?” I wondered.

“Let’s hope Cersei’s mercenaries haven’t arrived to Westeros and are marching north,” Jaime replied, and we took our leave of the godswood, but not before I could catch the haunting echo of Vairë’s laugh.

The faces of the northern lords were grimmer than last we were all gathered together; such an occasion had not been since Petyr Baelish bled his last upon the stone floor. Stern eyes glared at both Jaime and I, for we were hardly the favourite of the North. Yes, I had saved young Rickon, but the men were wise to be wary of a Targaryen in their midst. I doubt that they will ever accept Jaime; the Kingslayer was hardly a man to trust based upon his word in their eyes. But it seemed their whispers held little effect on Jaime. Perhaps that was in part to fulfilling his vow to Catelyn Stark to protect her daughters- not that Arya needed protecting- that he was completing his last chance for honour.

“Jon and Daenerys Targaryen are sailing for Winterfell,” Sansa explained, “But they will not come here just yet.”

“The Night King and his army of the dead have taken down the Wall at Eastwatch-by-the-Sea. He marches south to claim the realm as his,” Brandon continued, eyes all-seeing and ever distant, “He rides upon a fallen dragon- the very one the Dragon Queen lost beyond the Wall.”

“What will you have us do, Lady Stark? We are behind you,” Lord Royce declared.

“And I thank you for your loyalty, my lords. We will do what we must. We will defend the world of the living from the Night King. I have sent a raven to Jon, telling him of what Brandon has seen, and instructed him to urge Daenerys Targaryen to muster her forces to meet the white walkers on the battlefield with the men of the North and the Vale,” Sansa replied, looking every bit the Queen in the North, who she should have been.

“What will you have me do, Lady Stark?” Jaime called out, and ripples of whispers erupted all around us, “I gave the King in the North my word that I would defend the realm against the dead, but I also vowed to your mother that I could protect you. What does the Lady of Winterfell command?”

“You will go north- with Brienne and Ren. You will fulfill both vows, Ser Jaime,” Sansa answered smoothly.

“Lady Sansa, I do not want to leave you without-” Brienne began.

“-I will have my sister and those who will defend the castle should the war go ill,” Sansa assured the lady knight, “I need you at the front, Lady Brienne.” Sansa turned her attention to the lords, all of whom were watching her with avid interest. “My lords, my lady, what say you to call to arms against the armies of the dead?”

The resounding reply was the drum of steel boots on stone; the sound rang in my ears, and Rickon flinched at the sudden onslaught.


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ren finds a part of herself on the eve of battle; Jaime has a demand.

“I want the forges working night and day with the dragonglass mined from Dragonstone, if they must. Ser Royce, would you bring in the young blacksmith that rode from Castle Black?” Sansa asked.

Rickon rose from his seat and hurtled to my side, wrapping his arms around me like a vice. “You can’t leave!” he protested.

“Lady Sansa, pardon us,” I announced softly, and guided the young boy out of the great hall.

“You can’t go!” Rickon shouted as soon as the doors shut behind us.

“Rickon, I must. I made a promise to Sansa that I would keep your family safe- I have to go north.”

“My brother and mother left, too- neither came back. I don’t want to you not come back, Ren. Stay here- I can protect you-”

I silenced him by carding a hand through his Tully curls, and I knelt in front of him. “My job is to protect you, little lord, and to protect your sister. I will do everything in my power to come back to Winterfell, do you understand?”

Rickon’s chin trembled and he launched himself into my arms, his fingers dug into my skin through the furs, but I did not chide him. I folded my arms around him and said nothing until his shuddering breaths were only gentle hitches. “I want you to stay,” he mumbled.

“I have to protect you, and I have to protect Ser Jaime.”

“Do you love him?”

I wanted to say I did not know, for I did not fully understand what love was. I had seen my parent’s love through the eyes of a child; perhaps as Rickon possibly saw Jaime and me. How would I have seen them now? I nodded my head but said nothing further.

“And he’ll keep you safe from the whitewalkers?”

“I think I’ll be the one keeping him safe,” I said with a soft chortle.

Rickon slowly pulled away and soon his attention was devoted to Ghost, his loyal companion whilst Jon was away. I watched them walk around, Rickon seeming to be in deep conversation with Ghost, when Jaime came up behind me.

“What should we expect?” I asked softly.

“From the dead? Seven hells, I haven’t a clue- your King in the North is the expert on that,” Jaime replied.

“I meant what should we expect from Daenerys Targaryen’s forces?” I amended.

“She has an army of Dothraki screamers, lovely bunch they are, and those Unsullied eunuchs that I haven’t faced yet. But the sheer number alone, and with two dragons, she makes for a formidable ally…or opponent.”

“From what Bran has told me of what happened beyond the Wall, I do not think she will so readily use whom she sees as her children.”

Jaime said nothing for a time, his eyes distant. “I do know how I feel about fighting alongside the savages that slaughtered my men,” he confessed.

“Do not worry, Jaaneman, I know the ways of the Dothraki.”

“As if that makes me feel any better, being taken care of by a woma-”

I silenced him with a well-timed, cold, glare. I had concerns of when the men of the North met with their king when the latter had bent the knee to the Dragon Queen. My greatest apprehension was if Daenerys Targaryen would learn of my existence. From what I had heard, the Mother of Dragons did not like secrets or disloyalty…so how would she perceive her own kin forsaking our House and all titles that came with it?

“Ren!” Rickon called out as he came running up to us, “Sansa has something for you!”

Jaime and I shared a look before we followed the young lord into the courtyard. The boy guided us to the blacksmith’s forge where Sansa was waiting for us.

“Thank you, Rickon,” she said warmly, then turned her attention to me. “I had these made for you. I thought you may find them useful in the battle.” She motioned for the blacksmith to bring over the bundle. I regarded her curiously, knowing she delighted in the dramatic, so I let her carry on with her preconceived script.

“Thank you, ser,” she said to the blacksmith, and then placed the parcel on the table beside us, “Open it, Ren.”

Slowly, I acquiesced, and my brow shot up when the first thing I came in contact with was dense fur. I pulled it into view and realised it was cloak – fashioned with a wolf’s pelt – in the same manner as the ones the Starks wore. I looked at her, speechless. “Sansa, I…” I began.

“You have protected this family, and I would be proud if you were clothed in the manner of House Stark.”

I nodded and picked up the remaining items. Long knives, just like the ones faithfully strapped across my back, forged from dragonglass. Upon closer inspection, a snarling direwolf was etched into the end of the pommel of each blade.

“I know yours are Valyrian steel, but I hope these will help you come home,” Sansa explained softly, her Tully eyes shining bright.

“Sansa…thank you,” I murmured, bringing the blades up to the light to admire the fine craftsmanship. I looked at her and saw the strength of a woman twice her age…as well as the fear of a young woman to lose yet another who she cared about. I placed the knives down on the leather wrappings to approach her. “As any fighter, it would be foolish to promise that I will come back, Sansa, but I promise you I will do everything within my power to do so,” I murmured tenderly, my scarred fingers brushing her cheeks.

“That’s all I want,” she whispered, and embraced me fiercely, “…For you to come back.”

“I promise,” I repeated faintly into her scarlet hair.

* * *

We received word to march to the Gift to meet the King in the North with the Dragon Queen’s forces. Our hope was to intercept the Night King’s forces before they reached Last Heart, the seat of House Umber. I looked to Jaime, who was riding beside me, and smiled to myself. His face was flush from the bitter cold, and he looked every bit out of place as I did in the winters of the North. We had been riding hard for days, and according to one of the northern lords we would soon arrive.

Suddenly, I could not feet the cold, and the hairs on my arms and the back of my neck stood on end. Jaime’s brow furrowed and he started to say something to me, but I could not hear his words over the pounding of blood in my ears. My eyes lifted to the skies and what I saw caused my heart to threaten to pound out of my chest.

_Dragons._

They seemed larger than life, but for certain they were at least three times the size of a wagon. One let out a call and the other answered, and my blood felt like it was on fire and would burn through my skin. I could not break my eyes away from them; this what my father had tried to describe in the histories of our ancestors. This went beyond anything he could have ever described; this was recognising the blood of my blood for the first time.

“Renaerya.”

Jaime sounded worried; I only managed to look away from the dragons to him. His brow was furrowed, and his normal teasing smile was replaced with a grim line. “My father dreamed of the return of the dragon…” I murmured tremulously, realising that several tears clung to my cheeks, “I never realised it would feel like this. I wish he were here to see this…” I returned my attention to the children of magic and fire as we rode into camp. I understood, now, why Daenerys Targaryen was named the Mother of Dragons – she was the blood of my blood…just as much as the dragons overhead.

“Renaerya,” Jon Snow greeted me, and I tensed until I realised the Dragon Queen was not with him. His grey eyes took in the cloak about my shoulders and a faint smile curled his lips. “It suits you,” he praised softly.

“King Snow,” I replied formally, and dismounted from my horse.

“What is the meaning of this?” another voice demanded, and I looked lower to see a dwarf with mismatched eyes and a scar cutting his face in half. Tyrion Lannister.

“Lord Tyrion, I ask that you not-” Jon began, his grey eyes somber as ever.

“-You have been hiding a Targaryen imposter from the Queen and you expect me to do nothing? Or have you naively believed whatever tale she fed you?” Tyrion Lannister interjected, eyes narrowed.

“She is Renaerya Targaryen, firstborn of Aenar Targaryen,” Jaime growled, coming up to my side. His hand was on the hilt of his sword and his eyes gleamed wickedly.

“Brother,” Tyrion said stiffly, “I wish we were reunited on better terms, but life hardly plays out the way you want it-”

“-Enough with your word games, Tyrion, Renaerya left her name and House years ago. She came here to fight the dead out of loyalty to Lady Sansa Stark- she bears to no threat to your Queen’s claim,” Jaime continued, “No schemes, no treachery.”

Tyrion regarded us for a time, giving no inclination as to where his thoughts were taking him as he did so. I steeled my nerves, and I felt Jaime tense like a drawn bowstring beside me. “I will do as you ask, Jaime, but I will not lie outright if my queen learns of her kin’s existence.”

“Thank you, brother,” Jaime said earnestly.

“Let me show you where your tents are,” Jon Snow announced, motioning for the small group of us that remained to follow him. Jaime pulled the cowl of my cloak over my head before we went any further. We walked through lines of Unsullied, who regarded us with mild interest, but my identity remained undetected.

“I have had trenches built and filled with oil- when the dead go through them, we set them alight. We hope that it will serve as means of eradication and to limit their ways of launching an assault of their own… any word from Sansa?”

“She will aid the Dragon Queen in her pursuit of killing the Night King and his forces, but she wishes that the North remain independent,” I answered, handing over the scroll bearing the direwolf wax seal.

“I bent the knee,” Jon began.

“The North was taken from your House once, you fought to take it back, and the Lady of Winterfell will not allow the North to bow to a foreign conqueror,” I interjected.

Jon’s solemn face fell and he let out a sigh as he pocketed the missive and announced, “I decided it would be best to put you as far away from Daenerys Targaryen as possible, so I had tents prepared along the Dothraki.”

“Lovely,” Jaime huffed.

“Actually, it will work quite well. They will respect me and my privacy,” I remarked, and shook the bells, that used to belong to Khal Brozho, in my hair.

“Aw, here’s another beauty. Do you have to keep all the pretty women to yourself, Snow?”

I reached for my dagger, but then I saw the familiar smile on Jon’s face.

“Tormund, this is Ser Jaime Lannister and Ren, you two, meet Tormund Giantsbane,” the King in the North explained.

“And I am not _his_ ,” I growled in warning, jerking my head at Jon.

“Oh, I like her- she’s got fire in her, don’t she? I can handle her if you’re not fond of her, Crow,” the wildling laughed rakishly, “Shall I escort you to your tent and keep you warm?”

I smirked, but Jaime was not amused. “She’s got plenty to keep her warm,” he murmured coldly.

Tormund regarded Jaime before he shrugged his shoulders. “Can’t compete with you pretty Southerners…is the big woman with you?”

“Brienne?” I wondered incredulously.

“What interest do you have in her?” Jaime demanded.

“Oh, the best of kind,” Tormund replied with a crooked grin, “Can you imagine the great monsters we would have? She’s beautiful.”

“Tormund, best behave yourself,” Jon chided, and waved the wildling off. He stopped in front of a tent and motioned us inside. “We plan to assemble at first light. I will give you instruction after I finish my war council with Queen Daenerys and her Hand. Rest,” he urged, and walked away.

Jaime and I entered our tent, and found a fire already burning inside. I welcomed the reprieve from the bitter cold. I felt Jaime’s presence behind me before his arms wrapped around me. I felt his hot breath crash against the nape of my neck, but he remained silent.

“Was it foolish for us to come here?” I wondered softly.

“I gave my word that I would help defend the realms of men from the army of the dead,” Jaime murmured, “But I do not like the idea of being so close to the Mad King’s daughter to do so…”

I turned in his arms to rest my head on his chilled armour; the cold gave me ground to stand on and gather my thoughts. So much was riding on this battle…so much was at stake. Would we be able to pay the price of it?

I was taken away from my thoughts by Jaime’s lips to my temple. His fingers carded through my hair as he tilted my head back to kiss me fiercely. I recalled something he had said in a moment of crassness to unnerve me; _there’s nothing like fighting or fucking to get a man’s blood boiling_. I turned in his arms and looped my arms around his neck to pull him closer as my lips met his heatedly.

He pulled away at our clothes, surprisingly adept with only hand, and guided me back to the modest bed of furs. “Renaerya,” he chanted as his lips mapped along any part of me that they could reach, and he slid into me with ease. Our breath hitched as our rhythm was halting and fierce, but soon we gathered ourselves. My eyes opened and it was then I realised that he had been staring down at me the entire time. He surged within me as he lowered his head to press his brow to mine.

I reached up to card my fingers through his hair, idly wiping away the sweat that gathered at his temples. His emerald eyes were burning as he stared down at me, and my breath was stolen from me a second time. “I love you,” I murmured.

His thrusts gained intensity at my words and I found myself caught up in the consuming fire that sparked low in my belly; his hands of flesh and gold trailed unknown paths along my sides and his head dropped to bury into the crook of my neck. He latched onto my neck and I let out a faint moan at the sensation. “I love you,” he returned, rising up onto his forearms to look down at me again. “Marry me,” he blurted out, “Marry under that terrifying tree or under the eyes of the Seven – whatever way you want – marry me, Renaerya.”

“Yes,” I panted, and flipped him so that I straddled him. I sought purchase on his shoulders and steadily rose and fell on his turgid length. My head snapped back, my bells chimed, and Jaime’s hand cupped my breast. He rolled my taut nipple between his thumb and forefinger; the way he rolled his hips caused bursts of light to appear behind my shut lids, and he moaned beneath me from the way my body gripped his cock. The fire burned through us and I slumped over him as his arms wrapped around me.


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before the Long Night

I lay awake as Jaime slept behind me, his arms holding me to him, and I mulled over his words and my own. I slipped out of the bed and wrapped myself up to leave the tent. I wandered through the lines of Dothraki tents. I mulled over the vows that Jaime wished to say to me, and if I was actually ready for marriage.

“ _Fin hash yer_?! _[Who are you]_ ” a voiced demanded.

I spun about to face the Dothraki, and the bells in my hair chimed in the chill, night air. “ _Anha am Renaerya [I am Renaerya]_ ,” I answered.

“ _Yeri ae hash jin ato fin atthasat Khal Brozho [You are the one who defeated Khal Brozho]_ ,” the ko remarked, his kohl rimmed eyes fixed upon the bells.

“ _Sek, fin ae yeri [Aye, who are you]_?” I remarked, meeting his gaze.

“Jadokko. _Yeri hash jin qoy ki Khaleesi [You are the blood of Khaleesi]_?”

“ _Anha zin vo ato, akka me tikh tikh kijinosi [I am no one, and it will stay that way]_ ,” I answered, and continued on my way. I walked beyond the encampment until I reached the open plains where the battle against the living and the dead would take place. Once more, my blood started to sing, and a great shadow blotted out the moon. The ground trembled beneath the might of the dragon as it landed in the snow in front of me.

Most of his scales were emerald green, but the underside was bronze running from his neck to the base of his tail. His eyes burned bright in the darkness as he made his way towards me. I had heard of dragons from my father when I was young, but nothing he had ever said matched the ethereal sight before me. I had been limited by aged illustrations in rare scrolls and tomes, but those tales now stood, alive. As he drew closer to me, I noticed that some scales were such a dark emerald that they appeared as ebony beneath the moonlight. My blood was burning and set alight when the dragon tilted its head to regard me, its hot breath crashed against my person. Any other would have collapsed on the spot.

But not I.

I understood now what it meant to be the blood of the dragon; all those stories and histories my father had told me of our proud lineage dating back to the days of Valyria before the Doom; of how Baelon, Vhagar, and Meraxes brought the Seven Kingdoms together by fire and blood and the first had forged the Iron Throne. I understood now how the Dance of the Dragons brought forth the ruination of my family; how could they fight and kill the blood of our blood with such reckless abandon? All for a chair none of them were worthy to sit upon… How could they kill that which gave us our dynasty?

I was pulled away from my thoughts by a soft, scaled muzzle pressing into my forehead. The heat from the dragon warmed the air around us and settled deep in my bones. I raised my eyes to meet his gaze; shades of amber with pure fire encircling the slitted, ridged pupil regarded me, subtly contracting and dilating. I reached out a hand to touch the blood of my blood. The scales beneath my fingers thrummed with fire.

“ _Va ñellyrty perzys [Fire made flesh]_ ,” I whispered.

“His name is Rhaegal.”

I turned about to face the intruder but did not break my touch upon the dragon. Tyrion Lannister approached me from his cloak of shadows provided by the line of tents. The Hand of the Dragon Queen came up to me, his eyes darting back and forth between Rhaegal and me. I returned my attention to the great drake and murmured, “Rhaegal…”

The dragon crooned, a deep reverberating sound from within his chest, and I pressed my hand into his muzzle.

“So, it is true, another Targaryen brought to Westeros,” Tyrion began.

“I have no wish for the throne. Jaime told you,” I protested faintly.

“Yes, my brother told me, who also happen to be deeply in love with you. Forgive me for not trusting the word of a man in love,” the dwarf quipped, “But seeing Rhaegal with you confirms it.”

“Will you tell the Dragon Queen?” I wondered, my free hand going to rest on the hilt of one of my long knives.

“I value my life, as well as knowing that you have no designs on the throne. I will keep the agreement I made with Jon Snow…I will not lie to her, should she find you – she does not take that well,” he explained, and then asked suddenly, “How did you meet my brother?”

“When he was a brief guest of House Martell,” I answered.

“You are the one who saved Myrcella’s life,” Tyrion assumed, “Varys had told me there was an attempt on her life by Ellaria and her Sand Snakes, but that someone had saved her life… I admit, I was surprised that you escaped the Spider’s knowledge.”

“A spider’s web cannot ensnare No One,” I murmured, and turned to face Rhaegal once more. The great drake regarded me with those ethereal eyes of amber before taking to the sky to rejoin his brother.

“You should get your rest, we think the Night King will attack at dawn. Jon Snow wants you to lead the Dothraki in the charge.”

“Why not their own Khaleesi?”

“She will be hanging back with her dragons, as she has no fighting experience. But if the braids and bells in your hair are anything to go by, then the Dothraki will respect you. You are the blood of their blood as it were,” Tyrion explained.

“Very well,” I acquiesced, and caressed Rhaegal once more before he took to the sky to return to his kin.

I remained on the outskirts of the encampment. The night was still as the snow fell freely; only the crackle of countless campfires filled the night…until, in the distance, a lone voice began to sing.

“ _High in the halls of the kings who are gone,_

_Jenny would dance with her ghosts_

_The one she had lost and the ones she had found_

_And the ones who loved her the most_

_The ones who’d been gone for so very long_

_She couldn’t remember their names._

_They spun her around on the damp old stones_

_Spun away all her sorrow and pain_

_And she never wanted to leave_

_Never wanted to leave._ ”

The hairs on my back of my neck and on my arms stood on end as the words carried themselves in the winds of winter. I returned to the tent without farewell and permitted myself a smile when I saw Jaime’s form beneath the furs. I slipped into bed, and Jaime’s arm wrapped around me.

“Seven hells, you’re freezing,” he grumbled, still asleep for the most part.

“I was-”

“-Out looking at those damned dragons,” Jaime finished, rolling over to face me, “Glad to see it didn’t consider you a snack.” He pressed a blind kiss to my head before falling back asleep.

“What a handsome fool you are, Jaaneman.”

* * *

I rose before dawn, before Jaime. I was fastening my vambraces to my forearms when I felt his leonine eyes on me. “We must get ready,” I announced softly, continuing to strap my armour on. I pulled my wide sheath over my head, settling it on my waist, then slid my long knives into place.

“Renaerya…” Jaime began, his tone unusually serious. He did not continue until I had turned to face him. “If- If I die…promise me you won’t let me come back as one of things,” he explained.

“Jaime, you are the greatest swordsmen in the Seven Ki-”

“-When I had my right hand…maybe. And promise me that no matter how this plays out- you will go to Myrcella and take her as far away from here as possible,” Jaime interjected, eyes grim.

“I give you my word,” I spoke gently, and reached out to cup the line of his jaw, “But we will take Myrcella away from this damned place, together.”

I helped him into his armour; my eyes kept lingering on the roaring, golden lions at his shoulders.

_Hear me roar._

“I am to lead the Dothraki in the charge,” I explained, “Tyrion told me last night. Fight with Brienne on the left flank – you’ll look out for each other.”

“Is that where you slunk off to in the night? What do you mean leading the charge? Is the Dragon Queen too cowardly to lead her screamers into battle? I recall she did it just fine when I first met them,” Jaime growled.

“She is not a warrior,” I chided, “And she will remain behind the line with her dragons. They already lost one to the Night King, and it is going to be hard enough defeating his legions of the dead to add another dragon to the mix.” I wordlessly tightened his sword belt around his hips, then placed my hands on his chest plate. I gazed listlessly into the crimson and gold plate as my mind looked to the oncoming battle.

Northern horns sounded in the darkness; the dead were marching upon us. Jaime and I hurried out of our tents. Two horses were waiting for us, and we quickly mounted to reach the front line. Jon Snow regarded us solemnly before his grey eyes returned across the Gift. My blood ran cold at the growing storm that surely made its way towards our army.

“Winter has come,” Jaime murmured.

“And the dead with it,” I agreed faintly.

“Ren, you are to lead the Dothraki screamers to the right, while the Knights of the Vale under Brienne’s command close in on the left. Wait for my signal, we want to burn as many of the dead as possible with the pitch laid out before engaging,” Jon commanded.

I turned my horse about and made to ride out to join the _dothrakhqoyis_ [bloodriders], but Jaime’s golden hand stopped me. I regarded the Lion of Lannister with flashing eyes.

“You live through this, do you understand?” he warned.

Uncaring of the eyes that lingered on the two of us, I leaned over in my saddle to brush my lips against his. “I demand the same for you. I am yours, and you are mine, Jaime Lannister,” I replied, and nudged my horse into a canter. The bloodriders regarded me warily as I rode to them; I reached up to pull my hood away from my hair, letting my braids and bells show and chime in the wind. I pulled my horse to a stop in front of the lines of the khalasar. “ _Driv mahrazhi ma qora naqisat jadat tat addrivat yer_ [Dead men with thin arms come to kill you],” I announced, rising up from the saddle, my voice rising with the biting wind, “ _Fin astat yer_ [What say you]?!” I finished, calling out the challenge.

The answer was the thunderous, resounding war cry of the Dothraki screamers before me. Horses neighed shrilly, pawed at the ground, and arakhs of dragonglass were raised in the air by those who wielded them. I drew my long knives, the Valyrian steel gleaming wickedly beneath the grey skies, and cried out, “ _Lajat ma anna, qoy qoyi, lajat ha jin najahheya yeri khaleesi_ [Fight with me, blood of my blood, fight for the glory of your khaleesi]!” I wheeled my horse about to face the oncoming army of the dead.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Battle for the Dawn

The air grew more chill and it felt as if the warmth of my blood was stolen away by the ancient magic at work. Men of flesh and bone marched towards us, but where our hearts pumped with the fire of life – their eyes shone with azure of winter’s chill. Amongst the thousands of wights, were two figures mounted on their horses – the Night King’s lieutenants. Even from such a great distance, I felt as though their eyes were on me.

“ _Qoralat_ [Hold]!” I ordered, and out of the corner of my eye saw someone break line to come to me. “Jadokko,” I greeted the _awazak_ [screamer].

“ _Anha tikh dothralat me yer_ [ I will ride with you],” he said, dark eyes looking me. “ _Qoy qoyi_ [Blood of my blood].”

I bowed my head in thanks, then returned my attention to the battlefield. I could not tell where Jon Snow had ordered the pitch to be laid, the snow had done a fine job of covering up the caches from friend and foe. The Night King’s army drew closer still, and when I heard the Dothraki grow uneasy behind me I repeated the command.

A red priestess of R’hllor appeared at my side. “Do you speak their tongue?” she asked me.

“Yes.”

“Tell them to raise their swords,” the priestess commanded.

“ _Arakhs yatholat_ [Swords up]!” I ordered.

The red woman reached out to grab Jadokko’s blade and began a chant in Valyrian; the winds muffled who words, so I could not truly hear them, but cries of surprise rippled through the khalasar as their blades burst into flames.

“ _Kirimvose_ [Thank you],” I murmured. Any advantage given over an enemy that does not tire was welcome.

“ _Valar morghulis_ ,” the priestess bid.

“ _Valar doharis_ ,” I returned.

A lone arrow, aflame, shot into the sky and I felt an unfamiliar tightening in my chest…as if feeling the deep breath before the plunge into icy depths. Even the wind seemed to hold as the arrow arched through the sky before the blast of heat as the arrow landed in the pitch. Shrieks and cries filled the air as numbers of the dead fell prey to the ravenous flames; so many fell, but they were readily replaced by the oncoming horde. More caches of pitch caught fire, more wights fell, but there were still so many.

A wolf’s howl filled the air, and I turned in my saddle to the Dothraki. “ _Dothrakhqoyi, gorat_ [Bloodriders, charge]!” I yelled, raising a long knife high as I spurred my horse into a gallop. Cries from the Dothraki screamers filled the air once more as we thundered across the plains of the Gift. “ _Haje_ [Right]!” I ordered, leading the Dothraki into formation. The ground hurtled beneath us as we prepared to engage the enemy. Archers rose in their saddles as they came into range, the dragonglass arrowheads shining bright.

We collided into the enemy with horse, flesh, bone, and arakh. I hacked at the skeletal hands that tried to pull me from the saddle, the piercing cries of the dead filled my ears, and I guided my horse along with my knees. The horse trampled the dead as we trapped the latter between the Dothraki and the Knights of the Vale. Banners of the Eyrie fluttered in the wind fueled by war cries of the mightiest khalasar the world had ever known.

But it was not enough, the Dothraki were slaughtered by the sheer number of wights that fell upon us. There were so many, it seemed as though they were a wave rolling out to consume us. We had been told that the army of the dead were great, but nothing could have prepared us for this. One by one, the flaming arakhs were snuffed out until only a few remained.

I jolted in the saddle as my horse screamed, its legs hacked away from it, and I leapt from it to avoid being crushed beneath it. The breath was knocked out of me as I crashed into the unyielding winter soil but hastily scrambled to my feet. I dropped low to avoid a swinging battleaxe that intended to cleave my chest in two. I twirled my long knives in my hands and stabbed up into the wight’s gut. I engaged another, bringing my knives up in a **X** to stop the blow. I twirled away, trying to put distance between us, only to find another wight bearing down upon me. I swung out a parry to one as I stabbed another in the eye.

A figure jumped from their horse with a cry and landed beside me – Jadokko. He hacked away at any of the dead who were foolish enough to come in arms distance. We placed ourselves back to back as we fought off the dead. “ _Hazze hash akka san ki eyak! Kisha eth elat irge_ [There are too many of them! We must turn back]!” Jadokko bellowed over his shoulder as he grabbed the arm of one of the dead and brought his arakh of dragonglass down on the wight.

I flicked my hair over my shoulder and looked around. “ _Hazze_ [There]!” I replied, pointing at the white walker that idly took out any who tried to fight. “ _Rissat jin oggo ki gezri akka khado athdrivar_ [Cut off the head of the snake and the body dies],” I explained.

“ _Anha zin ma yer_ [I am with you],” Jadokko replied, and we charged the white walker.

Slowly, we made our way to the white walker until its azure eyes gazed into me. I felt a moment’s hesitation before I snapped myself out of its thrall. Jadokko took the offensive, while I danced around to attack when its attention was on the _awazak_. Jadokko nearly lost his head, but I grabbed him by his braid to haul him away. His copper bells were trapped in my fingers as he rushed to kill a wight…he did not seem to notice their absence.

The white walker’s weapon was a two-handed spear that was the entire length of me; the white walker thrust its spear at Jadokko, but I came from below to catch the blow between my blades. My knees buckled under the force of the blow – how could something dead be so strong? I bared my clenched teeth as I shoved the spear away and made to slice into the exposed flesh of its arms. The white walker batted me away with its hand, sending me crashing into the wights surrounded us. I made quick work of the latter; dancing between them as my knives snuffed out whatever magic had given them second breath.

Jadokko brought his arakh in a swinging motion over his head to deal what he intended to be the death blow when the wight – with a dexterity beyond the skill of a living man – transferred the spear to its other hand and gored the _awazak_ through. The blue ice of its spear was stained scarlet, and it dispassionately looked into Jadokko as the latter’s life slipped from him. The white walker raised Jadokko off his feet. His body turned blue, hardening as the white walker’s spear took root in him, until he shattered into clumps of ice…lost in the snow littering the ground.

I let out a scream and struck down the two wights before me to charge the white walker. It bid me to come closer with its stained spear, and somehow, I sensed its pleasure despite its passive face. I lashed out with a flurry of Valyrian steel, but each attack was countered. I danced away to avoid its thrust that would have ended me as it had done Jadokko. I bared my teeth once more as I leapt into the air in a swarm of blades.

A gauntleted hand lashed out with a precision that sent my senses reeling. I landed on the frozen ground with black spots clouding my vision. A high-pitched ringing screamed in my ears; I clambered onto my hands and knees, my knuckles white from gripping my blades so fiercely. I staggered up – clumsily blocking the onslaught by the wights surrounding me. I cried out when a sword caught me in the shoulder, causing my arm to erupt in fire when I tried to raise it. The white walker watched as its creations closed in tighter around me.

The ringing faded, and so I was able to focus on keeping myself alive and killing wights. I fought my way back to the white walker. Once more, I locked blades with the ancient being – my shoulder raging in protest as I trembled under the reverberations of the blows I stopped from claiming me. I diverted a thrust by bringing my blades down in a **X** and tried to kick the spear from its master’s grasp. Instead, the spear once more moved beyond its capacity and sent one of my long knives skittering across the snow. I reached back to replace it with a blade of dragonglass and retaliated. I shoved the blade into the white walker’s chest plate and froze when the blade shattered against the iron.

The white walker tried to gain advantage from my hesitation, bringing the spear down from above. I dodged the attack, but fell into the reach of another wight. The living corpse pierced my side with its dagger, and I stumbled in the blood-soaked snow. I blindly stabbed in the wight’s direction, relieved to hear the clatter of bone as the magic that held it together was forced from its frame. A hand of ice grabbed me by the throat and lifted me off my feet; I clawed at the white walker’s hands as it looked into me…and seemed disappointed. I tried to bring my leg up to dislodge its hold on me, but to no avail. The black spots in my vision grew until I could only see slivers of the battle around me. My chest was tightening as the fire threatened to consume me; I was losing.

_You live through this, do you understand?_

_Jaime._

The desperate glean of hope sparked and sputtered in my chest as I fought to keep my eyes open. That spark grew until I summoned the last of my strength to bring the hilt of my shattered blade down on the crook of the white walker’s elbow. Its hold weakened enough for me to greedily draw breath, and I threw myself into the white walker. We tumbled over each other until the white walker was beneath me. My skin burned from the cold its flesh pressed upon my own, but I stabbed my Valyrian long knife down and buried it deep in the white walker’s skull. It crumbled into shards of ice beneath me.

Scores of wights fell around me, but not enough to provide me a path to rejoining the Dothraki or any of my allies. I fought to remain conscious, my side and shoulder bled freely to mingle in the stained snow. My arms were forced to be outstretched as a number of wights held me in place, and an unfamiliar sensation trickled down my spine.

Fear.

I was going to die. I had met with Death so many times, offering the bodies of the marks I bore upon my own, but what I did not realise was that with each gift – Death was taking a part of me as well. I had given so many that I did not understand that the debt for my life would come sooner with each transaction…there was no escaping the Master of us all.

I was going to die.

And I was afraid.

A part of me wanted to claw and scream in defiance, in survival. But a softer, persuasive voice filled my head. _You would see your family again. No more fighting and hiding. Vaïre._ I could hear her laughter already…smell my mother’s perfume…recall my father’s face. _Come home_. I found myself submitting to my fate; I had evaded it for so long… I was so tired…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always struggle with maintaining flow and adding the right elements to fighting scenes...here's to hoping this worked.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Battle for the Dawn, part two

“RENAERYA!”

_Jaime_.

My eyes snapped open to see him trying to cut his way through the enemy line to reach me, but he would not make it. He roared and hacked against the legions of the dead to get to me, but he hardly progressed.

It was then I realised that I wanted to live. I did not want to die like this… I had made a promise – not just to Jaime, but to Rickon – Sansa – Myrcella. There were those who still needed me. I snarled and fought against the dead hands holding me fast as one of the wights raised its axe to take my head. My eyes fluttered shut and I tried to brace myself for Death’s conquer.

_I do not want to die_. The treacherous thought bled into the forefront of my mind as I was faced with the inevitable.

A shadow fell over me, and my blood was consumed by fire. A bellowing roar shook the foundations of the earth as torrents of fire rained down from the sky. The sudden onslaught of heat to the heavy ice caused the earth to shatter and rupture. Dragonfire ate up the wights around me, giving me the means to kill my would-be executor. My eyes went to the sky as the shadow loomed closer and more fire encircled me. I did not shy from the blaze but welcomed it. Rhaegal landed before me, encircling me with his massive girth to provide a shield. He let out a roar, challenging any to lay claim to me.

The world around me burned as I turned to face the mighty drake. I reached out a hand to touch him, but another dragon cry filled the air. I looked up to see a golden dragon taking to the sky from behind the army of the dead with the Night King astride it. A third dragon answered its call, and I saw the Winged Shadow make its ways to the former. Something came over me as I gazed into Rhaegal’s eyes, enthralled by the flames swirling within the amber orb.

“Renaerya!” Jaime cried out, sprinting towards me.

Rhaegal hunkered down, outstretching his wing, and something took hold of me. I climbed up the scales of his wing until I found myself astride the dragon. Blood of my blood. I raised my eyes once more and knew what I had to do.

“Renaerya, what the fuck are you doing?!” Jaime bellowed.

I leaned forward as Rhaegal turned back his head to look at me. “ _Sōvegy_ [Fly],” I urged, feeling my heart hammering in my ears.

Rhaegal crouched once more before leaping into the sky, his wings taking us high above the battlefield. Riding a dragon was completely dissimilar to riding a horse; the horse adhered to your will, but with a dragon you were the one forced to conform or fall to your death. The heat from the fire beneath Rhaegal’s flesh stung my chill-burned inner thighs as I did my best to remain seated. The cold stung my face and caused my eyes to water, but it was worth the mundane pain for the flight of the dragon.

To my right, Drogon carried the Mother of Dragons towards her fallen child and the Night King. My blood burned so hot I no longer felt the bite of the wind’s fingers as they clawed at my hair as Rhaegal soared through the air. I reached out and laid my hand upon Rhaegal. Praying he could hear me, I spoke, “ _Nyke gīmigon issa aōha lēkia…emā issare ondoso zȳhon paktot pār īlē āzma... Yn aōha lēkia iksis morghe. Vēttan ezīmagon mirros iā zaldrīzes iksis dōrī. Zaldrīzes buzdari iksos daor. Dohaeragon nyke dāez zirȳla._ [I know he is your brother…you have been by his side since you were born… But your brother is dead. Made into something a dragon should never be. A dragon is not a slave. Help me free him.]”

Rhaegal’s response was a reverberating roar, which was echoed by Drogon as we advanced on Viserion. My eyes looked down at Jadokko’s bells still tangled in my fingers; I freed my hand and wrapped them around the hilt of a long knife. I watched the Dragon Queen and Drogon take the lead, and crash into Viserion. It was like watching two colossuses collide, the sound like wet canvas being shaken by a leviathan in the heavens. My heart ached when Viserion let out a piercing shriek when Drogon’s teeth tore into him. Viserion raised his legs to rake down Drogon’s belly, causing the Winged Shadow to break away.

Viserion let out a torrent of blue flame, and Drogon dove away. I tensed as Rhaegal rose higher into the sky before bringing his wings in to attack Viserion from above. I leaned into him as we screamed through the air, and just as we were about to engage – the Night King’s eyes looked up to us. Viserion turned in the air and opened his maw to catch us in his fire. I was nearly unseated as Rhaegal corkscrewed away from the strange flames.

I settled once more in my place between Rhaegal’s shoulders as we engaged once more. I braced myself as Rhaegal bore down upon Viserion; the dragons met with a clap of thunder as they fought for dominance. I would catch glimpses of the Night King as we tumbled through the air – his unearthly eyes bore into mine and I refused to break gaze.

_Death has many faces; I look forward to meeting this one_. Arya had said those words to me before I marched north with the northerners. The almost Faceless Man was one of the few I trusted to defend Sansa should the armies of the dead slip south while we engaged the Others. There was something timeless and resigned in those startling blue orbs, but I did not have long to dwell on the intricacies of the Night King’s existence.

Drogon flanked Viserion and tore into the latter’s wing, and a piercing cry filled the air. Again, I was struck dumb by how our forebears could have fought like this. This cut away at my soul when the reality of what we would have to do caught hold within the tight confines of my chest. This was not the game thrones, where brother fought brother, this was something different…this was killing a part of our own selves without realising the cost we would face.

Rhaegal bit down on Viserion’s neck and visciously pulled away. No blood spilled from the reborn dragon, but the golden drake struggled to remain in air. Drogon and Rhaegal wove around each other and Viserion as the latter turned to unleash more of his blue flames.

“ _Shijetra nyke_ {Forgive me],” I prayed as Drogon and Rhaegal bore down to deal the final blow to their brother. “ _Dracarys_ ,” I whispered, and faintly heard the Mother of Dragons utter the same.

The cold air cracked and sang with the heat of the two dragons as their fire hurtled towards Viserion. A cry, keening and more wrenching than the last, tumbled from the golden dragon’s mouth as he fell freely through the air to the ground. The flames greedily consumed his decayed flesh, thick smoke billowing in his wake, and I wondered if it felt as horrible to watch Viserion die a second time for his mother. The magic that had brought him back faded from him, for not even the might of winter could withstand the greed of dragonfire. He crashed into the frozen earth with a deafening roar, and I flinched when I heard bone shatter against the unyielding ice. 

I saw a small figure make their way to the fallen dragon; I assumed it was Jon to make sure that the Night King fell. With it, the Battle for the Dawn would be over and the realms of men would once more be safe from the white walkers…who would soon fall back into legend and myths to scare children into doing as they are told.

Rhaegal broke away, returning me to the battlefield, and landed before Jaime. I staggered off of the drake, stumbling in the scarlet-slick snow, and into Jaime’s arms. The breath was knocked out of me as I crashed into his chest plate, and he did his best to wrap his arms around me. Rhaegal launched into the sky to return to his mother, which left Jaime and I alone on the dwindling battlefield.

“Seven fucking hells,” he growled.

He stank of death and gore, as I am sure I did, but I did not care as I buried my face into his unyielding armour. My bloodied hands touched him wherever they could reach, and I did my best to silence my thundering heart. We lived, even after so many others falling, we lived. Exhaustion brought my feet out from under me, and I sagged against Jaime’s larger frame.

The winds of winter shook my bells, and my ears caught the unfamiliar sound of another set. I withdrew from Jaime to regard the copper bells wrapped around the hilt of my long knife. My eyes met Jaime’s, and I murmured, “There is something I must do.”

“Let’s get you looked over first before you bleed out. If you die before I kill you, I’ll have that Red Woman bring you back to life.”


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end of the Long Night

_Arya Stark had killed the Night King_.

The young Stark had slipped away with the armies when we marched from Winterfell if Sansa knew of her sister’s absence, I could not guess. Herald of the Dawn, some called her, though they never said it to her face. The harbinger of the Long Night, the Night King had been killed by the Valyrian dagger that had started the War of the Five Kings by a Stark’s hand. She had defeated the Others just as her forefathers had done before the Wall had been built.

* * *

I wandered through the endless yurts of the khalasar in my search. Faces around the fire peered back at me as I wove my way through the encampment. Jadokko’s bells chimed in the night; a tent flap peeled back, and a surprisingly slight woman emerged.

“ _Fin hash yer_ [Who are you]?” she asked, her eyes on the bells still wrapped around my knife.

“ _Anna hake ajjin Renaerya. Anha lajat ma Jadokko vi jin driv mahrazhi_ [My name is Renaerya. I fought with Jadokko against the dead men].”

“ _Jadokko ajjin anna mahrazhkem_ [Jadokko is my husband]…” she spoke lowly, and I pitied her. She had come across the Narrow Sea at the word of her khaleesi and had lost her husband to a dead man with no name to curse…but then, no name to haunt her in her memory of him. She looked to me, and I could see her pushing back the hope.

I unwound the bells from the hilt at my side and held them out for her. “ _Mae drivolat lajat, vosma mae dothralat mae kimi kijinosi Rhaeshi Ajjalani_ [He died fighting, but he rides beside his ancestors in the Night Lands],” I explained gently.

“ _Hash tat yer tiholat_ [How do you know]?” she begged, and her lip began to quiver.

I pressed the bells into her trembling hand. The lie came easily; I could not tell her that her husband’s body shattered into pieces of ice that were lost to the bloodied battlefield. If I were to tell her the truth, then she would torment herself further in fear that her husband’s soul was lost forever – never to ride in the Night Lands with his forebears. “ _Anha avvirsalat mae khado_ [I burned his body],” I soothed.

Jadokko’s widow then did something that surprised me; she handed Jadokko’s bells back to me. “ _Anha zala yer tat zhorre eyak…anna mahrazhkem tikh zhorre zala me._ [I want you to have them…my husband would have wanted it],” she explained, “ _Chomokh mae, qafat_ [Honour him, please]…”

I took them without complaint and bid, “ _Anna tikh, anha azhat yer anna ase_ [I will, I give you my word].”

* * *

When I returned to Jaime, I sagged into his sure frame. His arms wrapped around me to keep me on my feet, and I was grateful that he said nothing. He helped me out of my armour and leathers, the latter had grown stiff from blood and the cold, peeled away the hastily wrapped bandages around my waist and shoulder, and eased us into the tub in the centre of our tent. He reached over the lip to pluck a linen from a low-bearing stool and dipped it into the water. Slowly, he washed away the gore and mud that caked my frame. I watched as the water turned a muted copper and I turned to face Jaime. I did not fail to notice that he took great care around my wounds…held together by dark thread.

He was pale, but he was alive. I took the linen from him and repeated the ritual he bestowed upon me. When I had finished, I let the linen sink to the bottom of the tub and placed my hand over his beating heart. The surety of the rhythm helped me remember that I had survived when others had not.

“What happened out there?” he finally asked, the question had been burning in his emerald eyes.

“I felt fear,” I murmured, “All men must die, but I had not expected for my life to be offered to Death today. I wanted to fight, but that was all I have done for years. After all that has happened, how do I go back to a life I never had? A life that, because of the blood I share, was never mine?”

“I don’t know. But I know that I will be by your side until you no longer wish me to be or Death comes for me,” Jaime replied, his hand of flesh falling over mine that still rested on his chest. “We made a promise that we would keep Myrcella safe. The war against the dead is over, and now it is time to keep that promise to each other.”

* * *

Jaime and I returned to Winterfell with the first part of the northern lords; King Snow and Tyrion Lannister thought it best that I leave as soon as possible for the Dragon Queen was keen to find the female warrior that fought astride Rhaegal. Tyrion had already spread the tale of a ghost of her ancestor had come to help her plight against the dead to get her off of finding me. On that, I readily agreed with them – my place was not before the Mother of Dragons; my place was in Winterfell until it was time for Jaime and me to travel south for Myrcella.

Though the Night King and his legions had been destroyed, winter still remained in Westeros. Perhaps we had seen the worst, but the future was uncertain. However, there was a newfound serenity in the snows around us. No longer did the winds of winter possess the fear of the Long Night and the white walkers; no longer did mothers fear the night would come where they would be forced to kill their children as acts of mercy.

That alone made the return to Winterfell faster.

Triumphant cries sounded when the billowing banners of a snarling direwolf were seen as we rode over the hills before Winterfell; the northerners were less tense when they saw that the castle was untouched. Trumpets heralded our approach, and I could just make out the flurry of men on the ramparts telling of our arrival. The smallfolk were first to greet us as we cantered through Winter Town.

As we drew closer to the castle, I rose in my saddle in search of burning red hair. Jaime reached over to steady me, but I saw Sansa leaving the gates. I urged my horse ahead of the legion, ignoring the cries of indignation as my war horse barreled through the men. I already out of the saddle by the time my mount came to a full stop. I made to bend the knee, but Sansa crashed into me. I folded my arms around her as she embraced me with a ferocity that unsettled me.

“Sansa?” I pressed softly.

“Bran saw you die,” she murmured, “He saw you surrounded by whitewalkers… _Ren_ -”

This was a moment that reminded me of how young Sansa was; she had been through much in her brief time in this world…as much as I. She watched as her father was wrongly executed for treason; she survived the schemes of three men who wanted to see her broken; she endured the murder of her mother and brother; and somehow, she grew strong and took upon the mantle of her House when I had forsaken mine. Sansa Stark had become the North, proud and strong, and she would not break for any man.

“What is seen does not necessarily come to pass,” I chided her faintly, “I stand before you as proof.”

“You can thank a fire breathing dragon for ensuring that,” Jaime grumbled.

“Dragon?” Sansa repeated.

“Another time,” I dismissed, “Was there any fighting here?”

“No, but Brann has seen that Cersei’s army of mercenaries have reached Westeros and will march north soon when they hear that the threat of the Night King has been defeated.”

“That will keep the Dragon Queen’s attention for long enough,” Jaime murmured.

We shared a look at that; he was right, after all. The pressing engagement of defeating another foe would take Daenerys’ attention away from the mysterious dragon rider, who fought beside her in killing Viserion.

“And long enough for us to get married,” Jaime added with a toothy grin.

* * *

“Ren?” Sansa called through the door to my chambers.

“Come in,” I replied, rising out of the bath. I unpinned my hair from its coil at the base of my neck. I regarded my reflection in the looking glass; the wounds sustained from the Battle of the Dawn were still held shut by dark thread, blaring against my pale skin. I wrapped bandages around my side and shoulder before slipping into my smallclothes.

“Everyone is waiting for you in the godswood.”

“How does Jaime look?”

“A little terrified,” she confessed wryly, then added faintly, “I know the feeling.” At that, her eyes grew sad and dull. I pulled her closer to me and rested our foreheads together. “My father wanted me to marry a man who was worthy of me…someone who was brave, gentle, and strong…I told him I did not want someone like that and I betrayed him. Maybe all of this was my punishment-”

“-Don’t you think that, Sansa. You were a child. From what little I knew of him, your father was a good man, and regardless what you may have said to one another before his death know that he loved you. He would be proud to see how strong you have become, and he would not want to see you give up on a chance for happiness.”

She looked up me beneath teary lashes but did not argue with me. She took a deep breath and stepped back from me. “I have one more gift for you,” she announced, motioning to the parcel folded on my bed. She followed me to the bed, eyes taking in my every move as I undid the twine string holding it together.

My fingertips first met wool, a common choice in winter, and my eyes widened as I pulled the dress away from its wrappings. It would be considered plain to most, but I was not one for grand clothes and jewels. I pulled the dress away from the bed so that it would fall to its full length. The dress was a deep crimson, nearly black, and I wondered where Sansa had found the material or dye for such a rich shade in the heart of winter; but what set the dress apart was the embroidery at the hem of the gown. Golden flames swirled in a design that I never could have achieved.

“Ser Jaime requested that I make this for you before you marched north to battle,” Sansa explained, “Though I did not know its purpose for certain, I had a guess.”

“Sansa, it’s beautiful,” I thanked her, and hastily pulled the dress over my head. The lining of the dress was a soft linen, so as not to chafe my skin with the weight of the wool needed to withstand winter.

I adjusted the dress to fit properly, while Sansa fastened the lacings at the back, and I finished braiding my hair back into one thick plait with my bells fastening the ends. “How do I look?” I wondered.

“Almost as terrified as Ser Jaime.”

Though neither of us had ever told her, it meant the world to Jaime that Sansa always referred to him by his title. I believe it allowed him to feel like his was honouring his oath to her late mother, and that he was not the oathbreaker, whom men cursed under their breaths. “Will you walk with me?” I asked softly.

“I would be honoured, Ren.”

Our way to the godswood was quiet and reflective – though there were times I thought my heartbeat could be heard from anywhere within the castle. I had never thought I would find myself married; I never thought I would live in time where I felt that I could; I never thought that there would be someone, who I wanted to share my life with. But perhaps declaring myself as Jaime Lannister’s and him as mine was the initial step in taking back the life that was stolen from me as a child.

My heart pounded harder as Sansa walked me down a pathway ensconced by torches as we entered the godswood. In the flickering light provided, I saw that there were few in attendance. I saw Brienne, Tormund Giantsbane, the Starks, and Jon was before the grand weirwood tree with Jaime.

This was not a wedding in the eyes of many; I bore no maiden cloak with the sigil of my House; I was not given away by my father, nor any member of my family. Jaime would not cloak me in his House colours to bring me under his protection. For the latter, this was not how our marriage would be. We would protect one another, as we had done through our journey and on the battlefield. Together, we would protect those we considered family…though most of them did not share our blood. Together, we would keep our oaths; together, we would keep Myrcella safe.

My eyes met Jaime’s as I closed the distance between us, and he smiled gently at me.

“Who comes before the Old Gods this night?” Jon asked.

“Renaerya, who comes here to be wed. A woman grown, trueborn and noble… she comes to beg the blessings of the gods. Who comes to claim her?” Sansa replied, and my heart surged as I recognised the traditional vows of the North being recited on my behalf.

A wicked smile took place on Jaime’s face at the mention of claiming me as he approached us. “Jaime of House Lannister, heir to nothing but what he has. Who gives her?” Jaime asked.

“Sansa of House Stark, who has been protected by her and has given her the cloak of my House,” Sansa answered.

“Lady Renaerya, will you take this man?” Jon asked me.

I walked up to Jaime said, “I take this man.”

The maester then grabbed a binding ribbon, in tradition with the faith of the Seven, and bid, “In the sight of the Seven and the Old Gods, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity. Look upon one another and say the words.”

“Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger, I am hers and she is mine from this day until the end of my days.

“Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger, I am his and he is mine from this day until the end of my days,” Jaime and I recited to one another, and then my husband reached out to kiss me.


	16. Chapter Sixteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bronn learns a lesson.

I saw Jaime and Tyrion slip out from the festivities, along with their shadow. I settled my hands on my long knives as I trailed them to Tyrion’s chambers in Winterfell. I waited until their would-be assassin made himself comfortable before I slipped into the room.

“That’s very good and all, Bronn, but you seem to have forgotten a vital detail in this plan of yours,” Tyrion remarked idly.

“Oh, and what would that be?” Bronn wondered.

I slipped from the shadows, a knife drawn from its sheath with barely a hissing whisper, and Bronn never knew I was upon him until my long knife pressed against his throat.

“Fuck,” the sellsword-cum-knight grunted, “Figured you’d have been long gone.”

“My wife has decided for some reason that she likes the North-” Jaime began.

“-Ye married her? Didn’t think she was gold enough for your taste.”

“Oh, leave the banter to the witty,” Tyrion groaned.

“Ye made your point, lass,” Bronn announced.

“I don’t think I have,” I mused, and dug my knife a little deeper – just barely avoiding cutting into his neck until he lowered the crossbow aimed at the Lannister men.

“Cersei may pay you off, but a dead man collects no gold,” I reminded him.

* * *

I awoke sweaty and my mind still foggy from sleep. I blinked owlishly and made to rise, but a tanned arm caught me around the waist.

“Don’t go just yet,” Jaime mumbled, his fingers dragging up and down the length of my spine.

“Jaime, I can’t lounge about all day in bed,” I groused.

“Let me have you for just a little longer before your Stark shadow takes hold of you…or Arya Stark wants to spar to see which one of you would kill the other first in a real fight,” he replied, “The Night Kingslayer or the Burning Shadow – who’s the better killer?”

I acquiesced and settled on my stomach to regard him. His emerald, leonine eyes were half-lidded with sleep as they looked at me. His hair stuck out at odd angles; his entire person embodied leisure - just rousing from slumber. His hand of flesh rested on the small of my back, and he cradled his head on the crook of his other’s elbow. Over his shoulder, I could catch the shimmer from his hand of gold on the bedside table.

Though he never said anything when he was like this, I knew why he requested it. The only love he had known was one of secrets, lies, and urgency…he could never remain in bed with Cersei, lest their heads be mounted on pikes if they were discovered. But even then, even in those rushed moments, Cersei was never Jaime’s. He had not known what it was like to belong to someone and have them belong to him. There were no words he spoke, but his eyes told me, that he cherished these moments…the languid pace of our life together. Though my responsibilities took me away in the morning, he knew that I would always come back to him.

* * *

“Move your feet,” I chided Rickon.

The boy scowled darkly in my direction before returning his attention to Jaime. Though Jaime claimed to be nothing close to the swordsman he once was, you could tell that he knew what he was doing. You could see it in his eyes and how he carried himself when sparring. His movements with his sword were slow, but he progressed. I watched as Rickon advanced on Jaime once more, a smile tugging at the corner of my lips.

“Raise your shield, or he’ll ring your head like a bell,” Jon Snow, now known as Aegon Targaryen, Sixth of His name, announced.

“Father used to tell you and Robb that,” Rickon recalled.

I saw the hurt flicker through the King in the North’s eyes; Bran had told him the truth of his parentage shortly after his return to Winterfell. The reactions varied; Sansa was apprehensive, Arya furious, and Rickon confused. He did not understand how Jon had been known as his bastard brother his entire life could change to another person entirely in one night…even if he remained their cousin…and heir to the Iron Throne. I still did not know if Jon wanted the damned chair; he made no voice to claim it from Daenerys, but that could be in part to his love for her…or the fact that he bent the knee to her.

I thought it wise of him to voice no claim to the Seven Kingdoms. He wanted to remain in the North with the only people he had known as his own. I could understand that. However, what I thought he did wrong was that he refused to let the northern lords or Daenerys know the truth. There were those that tried to counsel him against it, but he would not listen.

I was brought away from my thoughts when I heard the sound of a body falling to the ground. My eyes snapped to Jaime and Rickon and I was surprised to see Jaime on the ground…until I saw Arya circling about.

“Hardly a fair fight,” Jaime complained in good nature.

“Arya, that’s not fair!” Rickon exclaimed.

She looked at her brother with a faint smile. “Just remember that the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives,” she murmured gently, “Especially against a lion…”

Though I knew Arya would not harm Jaime as long he remained loyal to his vow to her late mother, the animosity that rolled off her when in his presence was tangible. Out of all the Stark children, I think Arya loved her father most. It was he who saw her potential; it was he who hired Syrio Forel to teach her the Braavosi water dance. Eddard Stark understood his daughter, and that was something she would cherish always.

That was one of the few things I understood and shared with the youngest Stark woman. Though I did not fight vehemently against my mother on the teachings of becoming a lady of a great and noble House, with the desire to become a warrior, my father understood my frustration with being seen as a lesser person and identified by who my father or husband was. I raged at the teachings that women should be meek and gentle- never to raise their voice…especially in opposition of a man. My father taught me that all that one needed to be heard was conviction and an education. And just as Arya’s memory of her father was tarnished with Eddard Stark losing his head by his own sword, so was my memory of my father…he was sullied by smoke and screams.

“I need to speak with you and Ser Jaime privately,” Jon spoke lowly.

I nodded my head, and called out, “That’s enough for today. It’s probably time for your lessons with the maester.”

“But, Ren!” the boy protested.

“How about next time, you can watch your sister and me spar and see if she will teach you,” I offered.

“You against Arya?!”

I smiled at the boy’s wide eyes before he hastily made his way to the maester’s study.

“Judging by the look on your face, I would wager bad news, but it is always hard to tell with your solemn face, Snow,” Jaime mused when we were alone.

I ticked my tongue against my teeth in chiding but did not take my eyes off the former King in the North.

“Come with me,” Jon murmured.

We walked into the godswood, where Sansa and Bran were already waiting for us, and the air was thick with the weight of the conversation to come. We all looked at the King in the North, save for Bran who probably already knew of what was to be said.

“I have received a raven from Daenerys,” Jon began slowly, struggling to meet any of our eyes, “We are to march south on the capital to defeat Cersei and the Golden Company.”

“Our duty is to Lady Sansa – not her,” Jaime dismissed.

“Can’t say I didn’t wish you were fighting with us,” Jon remarked, grey eyes on me.

“Yes, well, my wife is sure to be busy beating me senseless in what she considers training while you're off on a war campaign,” Jaime quipped.

“The Free Folk are returning to beyond the Wall, what’s left of it anyways. I’ve told Tormund to take Ghost-”

“-No,” I interjected softly.

“No?” Jon repeated.

“Sansa is one of the last Starks of Winterfell. Ghost will remain at her side. She lost Lady…but Ghost will suit her now,” I explained.

“Very well.”

“-Is Myrcella alive?” Jaime demanded, his face ashen.

Three Eyed Raven regarded us sagely as he spoke softly, “Varys has ensured the princess’ safety.”

Jaime’s tense shoulders sagged at the revelation, and Jon continued, “She has summoned me to the capitol.”

“Jon, you can’t go to King’s Landing,” Sansa protested, “Your place is here with your people. They crowned you their king – you cannot leave again-”

“-Aye, but I shouldn’t be. I am not a Stark- I am not even a Snow. I have no right to lead the North. Daenerys has asked me to rule the Southern Kingdoms at her side as Consort.”

“You can’t abandon the North simply because the Dragon Queen asks it of you!” Sansa retorted, her porcelain visage flushing red.

“I am not abandoning the North,” Jon dismissed, “I am leaving it with the best leader I know. The very same who prepared the stores for winter and the defenses against the army of the dead. I want you to become Queen in the North when I renounce my right to lead the North. There must always be a Stark in Winterfell…and I am no longer a Stark. After the capital is won over, she will summon Jaime -”

“What?!” I demanded.

“Daenerys intends to pardon him as thanks for his deeds at the Gift after the fighting is over.”

“Why wait this long?” Jaime asked, “The battle against the dead was moons ago…”

“Her attention was elsewhere,” Jon explained, solemn face giving nothing away.


	17. Chapter Seventeen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Renaerya and Jaime go south after the sacking of King's Landing.

“You can’t leave!” Rickon protested loudly as he watched the procession prepare to begin the journey south to King’s Landing. “You have to stay here – you promised that you would always protect me!”

“Rickon,” Sansa began, clearly exasperated with her younger brother.

“Let me,” I murmured, brushing past her to stand before Rickon. I knelt on one knee before the boy, whose eyes were bright with his fury. “Rickon, I have to go with Ser Jaime and bring Myrcella back…she’s the only family he has left,” I explained.

“We could be your family! All of us,” Rickon groused, and suddenly his voice was terribly soft, “Father went south and he died. Mother and Robb went south and died. What if you all don’t come back?”

“You will always have your sisters and Bran, Rickon. I cannot promise that I will come back, but I want you to know that I will always protect you…no matter how far the road takes me from you. Do you understand?”

He reluctantly nodded his head as he kicked the ground aimlessly.

I placed my right hand under his chin, lifting his head with the stump of my half-finger. “I promise you,” I repeated softly.

* * *

The last time I had been to the capital, Eddard Stark possessed his head and Jaime his right hand. Piles of carcasses, charred and unrecognisable, littered the fields surrounding the city. It seems the Golden Company had not been able to actually march from the capital before the Dragon Queen came upon them… not as though they possessed any chance again fully-grown dragons.

The first thing that assaulted our senses was the acrid bite of smoke and burnt flesh. Next, we saw the remnant fires and the desecrated city.

“Seven fucking hells,” I gasped lowly. I glanced to my right to look at Jaime.

His jaw was set in a tense line, but the rest of him looked like a firm breeze would send him tumbling off his horse. He was pale, glassy-eyed, but remained silent.

“What has she done?” Sansa whispered.

“What a _khaleesi_ does – conquer, pillage, and burn,” I replied.

Our party continued through the ruins of the capital, weaving through the rubble and ashes of the fallen. Jaime’s countenance grew darker as we passed through what must have been the gates to the city. It lay in ruin, and I saw Sansa’s hand fly to her mouth as we finally could make out the shapes littering the ground around us.

_She had burned the people alive._

There was no one to watch our ascent to the rubble that marked the Red Keep. Harren the Black had relied upon the security of his keep’s walls when he refused to bend his knee to Aegon the Conqueror and the warped remains of Harrenhal bore testament to the might of dragonfire. But Daenerys did not leave even melted stone; she had reduced the Red Keep to only a damaged throne room.

_Burn them all. Burn them in their homes. Burn them in their beds._

Daenerys had achieved what Aerys II aspired to; she razed King’s Landing and rose from the ashes as a dragon. I looked at Jaime and saw that he was trembling with rage. Here was the city that he had saved from a mad Targaryen…only for it to fall to another.

I did my best to relax my shoulders as we closed the distance to the keep; there was no one out on the street to watch us. Surely someone would have dared sneak a look?

Unless there was no one left.

Then, out of the ruins and shadows, the Unsullied emerged to herd us to their queen. I regarded the castle that one of my forefathers, Maegor, had built in his reign as Protector of the Realm. This was where my father was born; where he spent his childhood as prince until he accepted exile over the death of his family at the hand of his brother, who had gone mad. I expected to feel some emotion – nostalgia, recognition, anything – but I felt nothing. This place held nothing for me…not even ghosts.

Jaime’s face darkened as he retreated within himself as we were led into the throne room; I could understand why. When I saw each scorch mark against the stone, every shattered window, I worried about where Myrcella was when the attack on the capital had begun. The Dragon Queen assured Jon that she was safe, but countless people had lied in times of war. How could she claim the safety of one young woman in the face of such reckless destruction?

The remaining distance was an eternity, and I grew further on edge. My instincts, that had kept me alive, were urging me to strike out before another did. But I resisted, Daenerys had summoned us to King’s Landing in good faith, and we entered under a peace banner. I did not want to be the one that broke the tenuous peace and start another war.

Part of the roof of the throne room had been caved in, allowing the thick, ash-stained snowflakes to fall upon the court. The chill was held back by massive sconces that blazed bright against the grey skies. I looked at Tyrion Lannister, the Hand of the Queen. His expression was grim as he stood at the Dragon Queen’s side. My heart ached at the parallel before me. When the king he swore an oath to protect threatened the lives of the innocent, Jaime had taken upon the mantle of Kingslayer; when the queen he swore to serve announced her intent to carry through with her father’s final wish, Tyrion stood by and did nothing.

My eye was drawn to the small figure sitting upon the Iron Throne. I silently recalled the history of Aegon’s Conquer that forged the Iron Throne with a thousand blades; crafted by the flame of Balerion the Black Dread and smiths, the throne took nine and fifty days to make. Even after all this time, I was not impressed. Seeing how much the damned chair dwarfed her frame, Daenerys reminded me of her mother, Rhaella. I only had a few memories of my aunt; she was delicate – not in a kind, gentle way – but fragile to the point of hysteria. She was ill often, especially when pregnant, and manic in her need to provide Aerys with heirs. I think that appearances were the only similarity mother and daughter shared.

There was a confidence in Daenerys’ eyes that was long snuffed out in Rhaella’s…but in them, lay the telling gleam of Aerys II. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jaime fumble as he saw the Dragon Queen up close. He saw ghosts when he looked at her…the ghost of woman he was sworn to protect – from everyone but the king – and the ghosts of the men he lost to her army when she attached the wagon train in the Reach. The shadows behind her shifted, and I realised that the Winged Shadow, Drogon, was encircled about the throne.

“Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, the Unburnt, Mother of Dragons, Breaker of Chains, First of Her Name, Queen of Mereen, the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm,” Tyrion Lannister announced.

The Targaryen Conqueror rose from the Iron Throne, her movements slow…mindful of the still sharp-edged blades that forged it. As she exited the ruined hall, her dragon’s wings opened behind her.

_Reborn as a dragon._

“ _Qoy qoyi! Shafka vernish ei asqoy shafki anhaan. Shafka addrivish dozge anni ma khogaroon shiqethi mori! Shafka ohharish okrenegwin mori! Shafka ray azhish anhaan Rhaeshis Andahli!_ [Blood of my blood! You kept all your promises to me. You killed my enemies in their iron suits! You tore down their stone houses! You have given me the Seven Kingdoms!]

“ _Torgo Nudho, hin Rangam ez Hozno ynoma dekurūptā. Nēdyro mentyro hēdrȳ pāsābarje karajē iksā. Avy tolvio azantyro ñurho jentosy brōzan. Dārio Vīlībāzmaro Āeksȳso. Dovaogēdys! Jeme hen muñoti ñōghoti nādīntāks se hae buzdarȳti ūbrēdāks. Sīr dāeremirossa iksāt! Dāro Vilinio gierion hen qrīniō hilmiot dāerēdāt! Yn vīlībāzma tetos daor. Īlvra egralbrī qubemiluty daor yn vapār tolvio vȳho gierȳndi dāerēdoty! Hen Sōdrurliot va Dornot, hen Lāniso Viliniot va Qarthot, hen Jaedria va Zēo Embrot, ābrar, valar, riñār tolī grevo gō bottis. Grevi ynoma pryjēlāt?_ [Torgo Nudho, you have walked beside me since the Plaza of Pride. You are the bravest of men, the most loyal of soldiers. I name you commander of all my forces, the Queen’s Master of War. Unsullied! All of you were torn from your mothers’ arms and raised as slaves. Now you are liberators! You have freed the people of King’s Landing from the grip of a tyrant! But the war is not over. We will not lay down our spears until we have liberated all the people of the world! From Winterfell to Dorne, from Lannisport to Qarth, from the Summer Isles to the Jade Sea, women, men, and children have suffered too long beneath the wheel. Will you break the wheel with me?]”

Jon and Sansa understood none of the Dragon Queen’s proclamation, but Tyrion and I did. I saw the Hand of the Queen’s expression turn grim as he regarded her. The Dothraki screamed and the Unsullied drummed their spears against the ashen ground. She was a conqueror now; the conqueror who deemed herself the savior of a world that did not need saving.

I had heard what she had done to the slave masters, crucified them; I heard what she did to the nobles of Myreen, fed them to her children. She burned the mighty khals of the Dothraki Sea to form the greatest khalasar the world would ever know, and so few of the horse lords remained. She placed herself above justice; she placed herself as the mediator of right and wrong… those who opposed her would be the evil men that tried to preserve the wheel she so desperately fought to break. She would see the world remade in her own image with fire and blood.

I thought back to the time our greatest ancestor conquered Westeros; Aegon had forged a realm with our words, but it seemed that the gods saw fit to bring the great House Targaryen, that had survived the Doom, to ruin with Daenerys, Queen of the Ashes.

“Lady Sansa,” Daenerys greeted, “I am glad that you were able to journey to the capital. The North fought admirably in the defense of the Realm; your actions will not be forgotten.”

Sansa’s visage gave nothing away – not here, never would she show weakness here again. She had returned to King’s Landing as the Queen of the North in all but name, and surely the Dragon Queen intended to crown her and leave the North to rule itself.

“It is time for you to bend the knee,” Daenerys Targaryen demanded, violet eyes narrowed.

“Your Grace, the North freed itself from unjust rule, Jon and I swore oaths to our people to keep it that way,” Sansa remarked softly, “It was taken from us and we fought to get it back.”

“The North is one of the Seven Kingdoms ever since Torrhen Stark bent the knee to Aegon the Conqueror. I am the rightful heir to the Iron Throne…bend the knee.”


	18. Chapter Eighteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own the song - it was one I found on the internet. All rights go to the creator of a brilliant rewrite of the Rains of Castamere.

I caught Arya slipping away into the crowds out of the corner of my eye. _What was she up to_?

The crowd grew silent as the familiar strains of _the Rains of Castamere_ began to echo through the hall. Jaime tensed, hand instinctively reaching to grip the absent sword that had been taken from him, and Tyrion Lannister stepped away from his place beside the Iron Throne. Only the familiar words had been changed.

“ _The cold winds rise_

_And night grows dark_

_As Winter’s coming near._

_You lords of South,_

_In castles strong,_

_Shall know in time true fear._

_A coat of snow_

_And fangs of ice_

_A direwolf still has claws._

_I am the North,_

_Fierce and cold,_

_And I won’t bow to you…_

_And so she spoke,_

_And so she spoke,_

_That girl from Winterfell._

_And now the snows_

_Fall o’er your bones_

_The North remembers well._

_And so she spoke,_

_And so she spoke,_

_That girl from Winterfell._

_And now the snows_

_Fall o’er your bones_

_The North remembers well._ ”

_Arya, you clever girl_.

“Your Grace,” Jon spoke softly, “The North will be our ally always, but we must respect their independence…they have suffered enough and have done more than enough to remain independently ruled. They will have no reason to seek war with the South.”

Whether or not Daenerys acknowledged Sansa’s right to rule the North, the North remembered. Sansa of House Stark would be crowned the Queen in the North beneath the weirwood tree as the Kings of Winter, her forebears, had been. The reforged Crown of Winter, bronze weirwood leaves, snarling direwolves, and iron longswords would be placed upon her head – and it would not be due to the whims of the mad Targaryen. Perhaps Daenerys realised this and that was why she was enraged. The people of the North loved Sansa Stark – they feared the Dragon Queen from Essos.

Fortunately, her lover’s gentle words soothed the spark of rage that flared in the Dragon Queen. She took a deep breath, making a show of threading her hands together as a means of demonstrating grace, and took a moment to gather herself.

“Jaime Lannister,” the Mother of Dragons declared, “Please, step forward.”

I made to shadow him, but Sansa held me back. I looked her, eye narrowed, but my anger swiftly dissipated. Her Tully blue eyes betrayed her; Sansa Stark was afraid. She had returned to the place of her torment and nightmares. I remained at her side, but my eyes never left Jaime after that.

“Your Grace,” Jaime greeted, bowing as propriety dictated.

“You kept your word to come to the defense of the realm against the armies of the dead, when your sister schemed under the guise of alliance, and from what I am told you fought and led my khalasar valiantly on the battlefield.”

An unsettling calm fell over the court as if everyone was holding their breath. Something was not right; even if she was holding court, there were far too many soldiers in the throne room…even for a recent conqueror.

“ _Gūrogon zirȳla_ [Seize him],” the Dragon Queen ordered, and four Unsullied surged forward to take Jaime into custody. “One act of honour does not erase a lifetime of treachery. I, Daenerys of the House Targaryen, the Unburnt, Mother of Dragons, Breaker of Chains, First of my Name, Queen of Mereen, the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, sentence you to die for your crimes of kinslaying, oathbreaking, and incest. Do you deny it?”

“Such a beloved king, your father! Raped his sister-wife and burned men alive – many who were members of Houses here in court,” Jaime declared softly, “I deny nothing, nor do I regret stabbing him in the back and slitting his throat for good measure.”

The Mother of Dragon’s cheeks darkened, and her eyes burned. The Unsullied took hold of each arm while the remaining two took position in front of and behind him. “When I was a child, my brother would tell me a bedtime story… about the man who murdered our father. Who stabbed him in the back and cut his throat. Who sat down on the Iron Throne and watched as his blood poured onto the floor. He told me other stories as well. About all the things we would do to that man… once we took back the Seven Kingdoms and had him in our grasp,” she spat.

“Ren,” Sansa pleaded, and I felt her hand try to reach out and stop me, but I was already in motion.

I came behind the closest Unsullied and cuffed both of his ears. The force of the blow caused him to stagger, and I brought my elbow down on the base of his neck. I stepped over his crumpled frame just as the two holding Jaime turned to face me. I dodged a spear; I swung out my leg and trapped the spearhead between my foot and the floor. I snapped the spear in half and struck the Unsullied across the face with the jagged, blunt end. Blood spattered the air as the soldier reeled from the blow.

A hand latched onto my shoulder and the other made to grab one of my hands. I took a quick step back, pressing myself against the assailant, and brought both hands up to his hand on my shoulder. I pulled his arm over until his elbow rested on the shelf of my shoulder, then I yanked the joint in the opposite direction of its intended movement. A grinding _crunch_ filled the silence of the court as I turned to face the Unsullied. His arm hung limp, at an awkward angle, at his side. I sidestepped the jab of his sword, and one of my long knives appeared in hand with only an afterthought needed. I slammed the hilt into the sensitive expanse of skin along the line of the jaw, and he fell to the ground – unconscious. More Unsullied circled around me, so I drew my other blade.

“Enough!” Daenerys cried out angrily, rising to her feet. “Kill her!”

The throne room trembled under the weight of the colossus that crashed into the keep. Familiar emerald scales filled my vision as Rhaegal shoved his way into the throne room. The nobles’ screams were drowned out by the deafening roar from the dragon. The Winged Shadow rumbled a reply and shifted from behind the Iron Throne to take position in front of his mother.

I would not be the Targaryen that brought about another rebellion that ensured the demise of the last living dragons. “Rhaegal, _kelligon_ [stop],” I called out to the great drake, raising my scarred hand so that he focused on me. The corners of my lips twitched when the people scattered as Rhaegal pushed his way through to lower his head to levelly meet my gaze. My blood flared with fire as his amber orb looked at me – into me. “ _Ao ȳdra daor jaelagon naejot ōdrikagon aōha lēkia syt nyke_ [You don’t want to hurt your brother for me],” I murmured, reaching out to touch his scaled nose.

“Who are you?” Daenerys challenged, making her way down the crude steps of the Iron Throne.

I turned from Rhaegal when I was certain that he would not set fire to the keep or attack his brother. “My name is Renaerya Lannister,” I supplied, smiling despite the situation unraveling. Rhaegal’s hot breath crashed against my back gave me strength as my kin and I regarded one another. “The wife of the man whom you have no right to,” I continued.

“No right to the man who murdered my father?!”

“No right to the man who saved the capital from the whims of a cruel king,” I dismissed, “Who was so consumed by it that he could not see beyond his own madness.”

“ _Qoras mae_ [Take her],” Daenerys ordered.

Three Dothraki made to approach me, but my words stopped them. “ _Yer tikh vo qoras anna. Anha atthas Khal Brozho akka anha zin jin qoy ki yeri khaleesi_ [I defeated Khal Brozho and I am the blood of your khaleesi],” I announced, and then switched to the common tongue of Westeros, “My name is Renaerya, formerly of House Targaryen, firstborn of Aenar Targaryen. I have claim over my husband, Jaime Lannister – paid with blood.”


	19. Chapter Nineteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A dragon does not fear the fire.

The court erupted in whispers and low exclamations as Daenerys tensed at my proclamation. I pulled back the hood of my cloak and unfastened the wrap shielding my hair from the view. My bells chimed in the suddenly still air as I shook my hair loose. Violet eyes and silver blonde hair that once condemned me now upheld my word.

“You knew?” Daenerys wondered, looking at Jon over my shoulder, “You knew there was an heir that threatened my claim to _my_ throne?”

_Another heir that weakened her claim. An heir that had not slaughtered the innocents of King’s Landing; an heir whose father was remembered well by the Houses of Westeros…who she had burned when they refused to bend the knee – whose smallpeople she slaughtered._

“Renaerya has forsaken her House and sworn to protect House Stark. She did not want you to know-”

“-I am your Queen,” Daenerya interjected, “You swore fealty to me.”

“Renaerya has proven herself many times over,” Jon began.

“And has proven herself as a trusted friend, recognised by the North,” Sansa finished, gracefully appearing at Jon’s side, “As has Ser Jaime. I have taken him as one of my sworn shields. He has proven himself loyal to House Stark and earned my protection.”

As much as my heart surged at the demonstration of loyalty from the leaders of the North, this was not how I wanted this to end. This country had seen enough war; peace balanced on the edge of a knife, and I would not allow what would be perceived as a rebellion begin on my behalf. I made to speak, but Jaime did before my lips parted.

“I demand trial by combat,” he announced.

The Dragon Queen regarded him with a quirked brow. The court once more erupted in whispers at the implication; the last free lion of House Lannister still dared to oppose the dragon. “Very well,” she mused, “Drogon, _māzigon_ [come].”

The darkness that surrounded his mother shifted, and the Winged Shadow answered her call. The people of the court, save the Unsullied and the Dothraki, pressed themselves against the wall to be as far away from the great dragon as possible. Jaime’s face paled as he beheld the champion she had chosen; he stood no chance against such a creature…one that was fire made flesh. He carried no weapon; the Valyrian blade forged from the ancestral blade of House Stark, Ice, having been taken from him upon his arrest. Even such a fine weapon could not hold his own against Drogon. Looking at the dragon, I wonder if he was Balerion reborn in the new age of a Targaryen conqueror.

I could hear my father’s screams. I had watched from the shadows as wildfire consumed him; I had been haunted by his cries as he, too, was taken from me. I could not witness the same thing befall Jaime. I would not witness my husband burn as I had my father. I would not let history repeat itself. “The accused has the right to have a champion,” I proclaimed, “And I will stand in his place.”

“Renaerya,” Jaime protested.

The Unsullied and Dothraki let me make my way to my husband. We had been married for less than two moons, and already one of us had to save the other. I turned my back on Daenerys, drawing close to Jaime so that only he could hear me. “Jaaneman, let me fight for you… I have claimed you with blood – now let me claim you with fire…”

“I can’t-”

“-Now is not the time for pride,” I chided,” You have a promise to keep to Myrcella. For me.”

“I can’t watch you burn,” he continued, his eyes shining. His hand tangled into my hair and he brought our foreheads together. It was then I realised that Jaime was afraid; all the bravado and courage seemed to have left him as he stared down Drogon over my shoulder. He faced Death and did not want me to share that fate.

“Nor can I, Jaaneman. Whatever happens, I want you to find Myrcella and take her away from here. Understand?”

“Renaerya,” Jaime murmured.

I turned to face Daenerys and the Winged Shadow. “I, Renaerya Lannister, stand as champion for Jaime Lannister,” I recited.

“I commend you for your loyalty to your husband, but there have been imposters claiming to be the blood of the dragon. They thought they could trick me. They failed- will you?” the Mother of Dragons wondered. She turned to the Unsullied to her left and ordered, “ _Maghagon guēse se mazverdagon iā pythe_ [Bring wood and build a path].”

Panicked whispers broke out as those in the court recognised the structure being built. Jaime reached out his hand to take hold of mine as the realization fell upon him. I watched with a calm heart; if this was to be the death that I evaded at the Gift – that I have escaped for so long – then I would not fight it. My father had told me that fire cannot harm a dragon ever since I could understand him. But in the end, it was fire that devoured him it was fire that in his heart he burned… perhaps my father was wrong. Did I truly possess the blood and strength of the dragon after turning my back on my House for so long? Could I dare to walk through the fire and remain unburnt?

Lengths of wood had been stacked on one another to create a raised platform where I would tread. I was taken to one end and Jaime to the other. Daenerys stood in the middle with her great shadow looming behind her. “ _Dracarys_ ,” the woman ordered softly. The brief intensity of the billow of flame startled the onlookers that most did not draw breath, let alone scream. White-hot coals replaced wood that marked my path to Jaime. I stared him down until my eyes caught his; only then did I begin. My doubt did not disappear after the first step, but something else took hold as I dwelled within the fire.

The screams began a quarter of my way through. They were not my own, but those of the court. An acrid, burning smell filled the air, but it was not my flesh. The furs that kept back winter’s chill were taken away by the greedy flames lapping at my feet. My boots were the first to go, and a thrill bolted through me when my bare feet touched coal… I remained unscathed. My clothes were consumed, and I had to hold my long knives in hand to keep them from falling from my person.

“Seven hells,” Jaime rasped when I reached him, and pulled me into his arms. I heard him hiss when my bells, scalding from the heat of the fire, seared his hand that was tangled in my hair. He tugged the cloak off his shoulders and wrapped it around me – no doubt to hide my naked frame from the hungry eyes of the Dothraki.

My body trembled from the rush of what I had just done and the sudden onslaught of the cold. Holding Jaime’s cloak to my person, I turned to face the Dragon Queen. “Jaime Lannister has been tried and found innocent in the sight of gods and men,” I addressed.

“ _Gūrogon zirȳ_ [Take them],” Daenerys replied coolly.

Jaime and I were separated by the Unsullied that took each of us by the arms. Cries of dismay filled the throne room. I made to return to Jaime’s side, uncaring that I was naked, but a fist struck me in the face.

“Ren,” Sansa cried, “Don’t hurt her!”

“Your Grace, Renaerya has won the trial by combat – it is tradition of our people to honour that,” Jon protested.

“A tradition that has enabled the strong and powerful to domineer the weak. I told you that I intend to break the wheel.”

I spat the mouthful of blood at her feet. “Curse of our House! Oathbreaker! You are just like him! A tyrant! Murderer! The Mad Queen of the Ashes, Daenerys Stormborn – _long may you reign_ ,” I seethed, “ _Burn them all. Burn them in their homes. Burn them in their beds._ You are just like him!”

“See that they are separated,” she instructed, “Until they face justice.”

“Ren!” Sansa called out.

The last I saw of the throne room; Jon was still trying to sway Daenerys’ decision; Tyrion Lannister and a bald man had joined the endeavour. However, what hurt me most was Sansa’s pale face as it sought me out and her eyes greedily took me in as if she feared that she would never see me again. Arya pulled her older sister close, and her hand rested on the hilt of the Valyrian dagger. What settled the deep ache in my chest was Jaime straining against his bonds. Would I see him again?

The faces of those I claimed as family were locked behind the doors leading to the throne room as they slammed shut. I would see to ensuring that the people that imprisoned me would never see the dawn – even if that entailed killing the Dragon Queen myself.

I would bring fire and blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I chose the same route as the show in how Danaerys' hair remains when she goes through the flame for Ren, unlike the books. For me, I thought that with the symbolism of the Dothraki braids and bells remaining untouched as a woman emerges from the flames to be a powerful image. Thoughts?


	20. Chapter Twenty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where all is lost...and all is found.

“I never thought I would live to see two Targaryens alive- let alone one of them being Aenar’s firstborn,” a voice remarked gently.

I turned away from the narrow window that looked out across Blackwater Bay, away from my plans of murder and escape, and saw the bald man from the throne room. He wore rich robes – even in the heart of winter – and he watched me with idle amusement.

“Varys the Spider, Master of Whispers,” I realised, “How strange that you have outlived three monarchs and are now serving a fourth.”

“I recall your father possessing quite the silver tongue as well,” he mused, “And I confess that I won’t outlive the fourth, I imagine.”

“You knew my father?” I asked.

“I did – a wise man…wise enough to get out of King’s Landing and willing to enter exile. Why do you think he did that?”

“Because he loved my mother – he loved his family,” I snapped.

“Ah yes, your mother was a great beauty – like yourself – but she feared her elder king-brother Aerys, greatly…greedy ambition and wandering eyes unnerved her…” Varys remarked, walking to the other side of the room, “Do you think that’s why your father married her? To protect her?”

“My father loved my mother,” I ground out.

“I possess no doubt about that…. now, I have a dilemma that I am trying to solve. When you look at Lady Sansa, and so adamantly protect her, do you see your little sister? What was her name again? Vaïre-”

The soft-spoken man was cut off when I surged across the room to pin him against the wall. My arm dug into his neck, and I spat, “Enough.”

“Such devotion to the dead. I hope you serve the living as faithfully. Princess Myrcella speaks of you fondly to her Uncle Tyrion,” Varys rasped.

“Myrcella? Is she safe?” I demanded, pulling my arm back to let him speak.

“Currently held in the Black Cells with the ever-dwindling members of her family.”

“What is to be her fate?” I pressed, desperately trying to swallow the lump that filled my throat.

Varys briefly bore a sad expression before he reined his emotions back in. “The Queen intends to have them executed. Before you kill me where I stand, I want you to know that I find children blameless in the quarrels of the realm,” he explained calmly, walking to the hearth. He pushed against a part of the mantle and an opening revealed itself.

“You are helping me escape?” I murmured, “Knowing that I want to kill your Dragon Queen?”

“I am, and always will be, faithful to the good of the realm. I believed in Daenerys Targaryen and that she could still benefit the realm. I pray that Jon Snow, Aegon Targaryen, will temper the worst in her… but that is for me to observe. You must leave this city. Follow the path I marked for you and you should easily find Myrcella and Ser Jaime,” Varys answered.

“You would send me without a weapon,” I scoffed, “And I won’t leave until that _vikeesi_ is dead.”

“Oh, I think you will find exactly what you need, if you are clever enough. You are approaching a crossroad, then. Will you seek vengeance and lose any chance of escape, or will you seek to protect the only people you love in the world? _Travel into the darkness of the dread to reclaim the fire and its kin_.”

At my scowl, the Spider repeated the phrase.

“ _Travel into the darkness of the dread to claim the fire and its kin._ Farewell, Renaerya Lannister, formerly of House Targaryen.”

I did not dare to linger to solve the riddle. Entering the tunnel, I found small torches guiding my way to a ladder. I descended deeper, into the bowels of the keep, with only the faint light of the torches as companions. The tunnel opened – even in the darkness, my senses could feel the path opening up into a chamber. I dropped low into a crouch on the balls of my feet when the stone floor shifted to sand. Parts of the ceiling of the catacombs had caved in from Daenery’s sacking of the city.

Shafts of moonlight splintered the darkness, but the shadows still loomed around me. I hesitated, listening for the muffled sound of any footsteps, and only pressed on when there was nothing but the faint sound of my own breath. In the darkness, I could feel the shattered ceiling towering overhead; I was deep in the castle – deeper than any exploration in my youth or lesson learned from any maester had ever taught me. I jerked to the side when a great shadow loomed from out of the shadows. It was a dragon… a remnant of a time long-past.

Balerion the Black Dread, the largest of all the Targaryen dragons, who carried Aegon the Conqueror to Westeros. The histories written by the maesters claimed that his wingspan could cover an entire town, and seeing his skull made me believe it. I reached out and touched the legend that the dynasty of my House was forged with.

_Travel into the darkness of the dread to claim the fire and its kin._

My breath caught in my throat as the Spider’s words repeated themselves. I crept along the length of the skull until I knelt before the maw of Balerion. Even in death, he gave me hesitation in passing under the teeth that stretched longer than my own frame…even if I stood at my full height. I stopped when the sand returned to stone, and further inspection showed that a slab was raised away from the rest of the floor. I pried the piece away, what was brought into sight caused my blood to ignite.

Wrapped in velvet, were two familiar pommels that I had only ever read about in my youth. The first I grabbed hold of was a black leather-wrapped grip with a ruby inlaid at the pommel with two snarling dragons on each end of the crossguard. The ore that it was forged from was undeniable – Valyrian steel. This blade, a hand-and-a-half longsword, was the legacy of House Targaryen.

_Blackfyre_.

The blade that every Targaryen king wielded since the Conquest. Varys’ words were understood when I saw what he was giving me. The lost Valyrian swords of my House. Where the Spider had found them, I did not know. I set Blackfyre aside and pulled out its kin from the velvet wrappings.

_Dark Sister._

A longsword that supposedly was last borne by Lord Brynden Rivers when he journeyed to the Wall to join the Night’s Watch. No one had seen it since. Despite its length, greater than Blackfyre, the blade was slender… built for a woman’s hand. I raised it into the faint light of the torches flickering behind me. Burnished gold held an oval, smooth garnet; the crossguard melded into a serpentine line of fire’s finger with a smaller, similar line at the rainguard. The pommel bore an etched flame instead of the usual polished stone or smooth edge.

I strapped Dark Sister across my back and carried the sheathed Blackfyre in hand. Would I ascend the hidden paths of the ruined to keep to seek out the Dragon Queen? I swore that I would have her dead by the dawn, but something gave me pause. Could I sacrifice Myrcella and Jaime’s lives with my selfish desires for revenge against Daenerys Targaryen? I understood, in that moment, that I would not be able to succeed in doing both; I had to choose which path I would see to the end.

_Nothing else matters, but you and me._

Jaime had whispered those words to me in the late hours of the night after we had survived the Battle of the Dawn. Could I turn my back on the man who dedicated himself to the vows he promised to me in the godswood of Winterfell?

No.

I had tarried too long; someone was bound to discover my escape. I crept through the catacombs, passing dragons I was once required to know by memory, until I reached the Black Cells. I remained cloaked within the shadows until I could slip between the rounds of patrolling Unsullied. Once within the occupied wing of cells, I stalked the only standing guard. Dark Sister split his throat from ear to ear – not even a gurgling rasp escaped his lips. I cradled his flailing, heavy body to the ground, uncaring of the hot blood staining my person. I took the keys to the cells, and I looked about in search of Myrcella and Jaime. I was not foolish enough to start calling their name – even in a whisper.

“Ren?” a soft voice rasped.

I turned around in the direction of my name but saw no movement from the shadows. I wanted to call out to her – to Myrcella – to finally prove that she was alive. I made to come closer to the cell I thought contained her.

“Renaerya?”

“Jaime,” I whispered, quiet to even my own ear. Turning away from my original path, I approached his cell and quickly unlocked his door.

“Seven hells,” he cursed under his breath as he roughly ran his hand of flesh down the length of my arm.

“We are leaving.”

“So…you’re the other dragon bitch,” a third voice announced.

“Enough, Cersei,” Jaime warned.

Cersei Lannister.


	21. Chapter Twenty One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "And when your tears have drowned you, the valonqar shall wrap his [hand] about your pale white throat and choke the life from you."   
>  A Dance with Dragons

I paused to regard the infamous lioness of House Lannister. She was beautiful; gold and emerald embodied into the perfect vassal of mortal flesh. She rose from the shadows, stepping into the light, and even with cropped hair – she was extraordinary. But there lied an ugliness in her – something that had took root inside her. She was full of hatred and revenge; she wore it as easily as one donned on a cloak… and it suited her.

“The one who turned Jaime’s head – that took him from me – who whispered pretty words in his head about honour that had him abandoning me to fight the army of the dead. I am impressed – your cunt succeeded in something others have failed all those years.”

“Mother, please,” Myrcella begged.

“Even my own daughter,” she seethed softly, “How she sang your praises in an attempt to change my mind… though it hardly matters now.” She grabbed Myrcella and wrapped her hands around her daughter’s throat.

A rasping whimper was the only sound to escape from Myrcella’s, and her mother did not seem the least bit apprehensive of stealing the life from her own child… nor the sting of Myrcella’s nails carving into her hands as she tried to break her mother’s hold.

Jaime and I hurried into the cell; he lunged at his twin while I pulled Myrcella into my arms. I shielded her from the sight of her father strangling her mother. Jaime lifted Cersei off the ground and pressed her against the wall; his hand of gold relentlessly stealing the breath from her. “Why did the gods curse me to ever love such a hateful woman?” he ground out, teeth bared, “I won’t curse you for trying to have Bronn kill me. But you… you would kill one of the few things we managed to get right?”

Cersei’s legs jerked, trying to get leverage against Jaime to push him away; she scratched at the hand at her throat, but it was her own nails that tore against the unyielding steel. Her emerald eyes were wide and bright, like a cornered beast that knew Death was bearing down upon it. The panicked gleam soon vanished, and her final breath was a faint, “ _Valonqar_.”

“Ren,” Myrcella whimpered.

I shushed her gently, “It’s all right. We are leaving this place.”

“How?”

“We follow the torches,” I explained, urging her out of the cell.

Jaime stood over his twin’s body, eyes muted and distant. I came up behind him and said his name. He gave no inclination that he actually heard me – not one muscle twitched. He did not stir until I murmured, “Jaaneman.” He looked at me, though I still felt he did not see me.

I led him out of the cell, and he did not stop to look back. We crept through the last part of the Spider’s path until the chill rolling off Blackwater Bay assaulted our senses. Tied off on the shoreline was a small boat.

I could make out two shadows that circled about the keep; I knew that Rhaegal would not betray us, but Drogon was ever faithful to his mother. Though there was little we could do to escape their notice, I pressed my companions onward.

No bells broke the tension that hovered over us; our plight was still unnoticed. I took the lead, keeping Dark Sister in hand in case a perimeter patrol happened upon us. My feet sunk in the sand; the wind rolling off Blackwater Bay assaulted our sense with the tang of brine and damp. Four figures emerged from behind a rock that jutted along the coast.

Jaime kept Myrcella from crying out, and I raised Dark Sister.

One of the figures pulled back their hood, and I relaxed when I saw the fiery copper hair shine beneath the moonlight. I hurried towards Sansa, pulling her into my arms.

“Forgive me,” I pleaded to her, and her alone. I was breaking my vow to keep her safe by abandoning her; I had become no better than those before that promised her the same.

“There is no need,” she assured me tremulously, “For I have failed you. But we have secured you safe passage to wherever the journey takes you.”

“I am proud – honoured- to have served you, Sansa…”

She held me fiercely, no doubt to hide the tell-tale tremble that rolled through her frame. Over her shoulder, I saw Jon, Tyrion, and Brienne watching me. I broke away to approach them. I could see the guilt and shame that burned in Jon’s eyes. He had brought us to the capital under pretenses that he believed to be in earnest, but they had led to our ruination. My attention flicked to Brienne of Tarth.

“You keep her safe where others have failed…” I began thickly, my throat tightening, “Where I have failed. You keep her safe, or there will not be an army large enough to keep me from killing you.”

Pride and respect shined in the lady knight’s gaze as she calmly looked back at me. “I give you my word that no harm with befall Lady Sansa as long as I live,” she vowed.

I dipped my head in thanks and turned back to the former King in the North. “We bear you no ill will, for we were all deceived. Take care and may your days go without sorrow,” I bid.

“Ren,” Sansa called out.

I returned to her, cradling her face between my scarred, stained hands. I kissed her brow and murmured against her clammy flesh, “Have courage, Sansa.”

“-You can’t leave,” she beseeched.

“I must,” I dismissed gently, “But you are, and always will be, my sister. Live, Sansa – prove all those who thought you would crumble beneath the weight of your pain and sorrow. Find love – find happiness and know that I will never forget you.” I kissed her brow one last time.

She reached into the folds of her cloak and withdrew one of my knives. I gently took it from her quivering fingers and brought it up. I sheered a strand of my hair off and tied it around the handle. I pressed it back into her hand, which gripped it fiercely. It was time to put that legacy of my life behind me.

“Tell Rickon that I am sorry I couldn’t keep my promise,” I said with a sad smile.

“Brother,” Tyrion Lannister called out softly, “I tried to protect our family.”

“I know,” Jaime rasped, kneeling in the surf to embrace his little brother fiercely.

“I tried to keep Myrcella safe. I knew there was no hope for Cersei – I’m sorry – I tried to get Daenerys to cease her assault if the bells rang-”

“-Tyrion, I don’t blame you,” Jaime murmured.

“I would have betrayed her if I had to… tens of thousands of innocent lives, one not particularly innocent dwarf. Seemed like a fair trade,” Tyrion explained, “If it meant that what remained of my family lived… if it weren’t for you, I never would have survived my childhood. You were the only one that didn’t treat me like a monster. You were all I had.”

They were all they had left of their ancient House…save for one aunt that was a Frey by marriage. No one spoke or rushed the brothers as they embraced one last time; no one made notice of the sobs that wracked Tyrion’s frame or how Jaime fought back tears of his own.

“You were always the best of us,” Jaime murmured before breaking away from his brother.

Jaime had already helped Myrcella into the rowboat and was waiting for me. Together, we untied the boat and pushed off into the bay. I took the oars and began to row further out. Myrcella rested her head on Jaime’s shoulder as they looked ahead for the awaiting ship. But I, I looked back at the people I had carved a part of my life out for.

Sansa. The girl everyone thought would perish and wither beneath the game of thrones, but instead emerged stronger than winter. She had become the queen her father envisioned for her all those years ago; though not in the way he had originally crafted. She would endure, and that gave me a sliver of peace. She would rule in the name of peace and justice; both the sword and the shield for her people. She would make her forebears proud.

Jon Snow…or Aegon VI Targaryen, the heir to the Iron Throne, who had lived the life of a bastard from the North. He became the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch; he died at the hands of men he called brothers; he returned to lead the living against the dead. Perhaps he was one of the few capable of uniting the realm after so much bloodshed and grief. I dared hope that he would guide the Dragon Queen into the ruler she believed herself to be.

Brienne of Tarth. The lady knight that had led Jaime to what would have been his death; a woman driven by honour and duty, even when it could have cost her the life of the man she loved. At first, there was nothing I wanted more than to kill her – mark or no. But she proved herself worthy of watching over Sansa as the latter led her people. She would not fail, for she would rather die than do so.

Tyrion Lannister. One of the last lions of Westeros and the Hand of the Queen. Were I a faithful woman, I would have prayed that he would temper the Dragon Queen’s terrible traits and would guide her to a prosperous reign. He would have risked it all for his family, and that loyalty marked him as the best of men. Would he be enough to quell the madness of my House?

I only allowed myself a moment to wonder where their roads would take them. I allowed myself to hope that they would never be on opposite ends of the battlefield – that they could live out the remember of their days in peace…but I had to remind myself that it was Westeros. My thoughts shifted to think about where our journey would take us; would we go to one of the Free Cities where the Dragon Queen would never find us?

I had been a killer for so long that I assumed a normal life with a family to call my own would never be a possibility. And yet, the possibility for a new start for a the three of us began the moment we boarded the ship. I dared to picture it already… somewhere along the sea, not dissimilar to the last home I had known, with room for Jaime and me to train and for Myrcella to wander without fear. That was what I wanted, I realised, I wanted a home more than anything now…with the two Lannisters before me.

“What will we do?” Myrcella asked, voice still hoarse.

“We become No One,” I answered gently.

I had set aside the mantle of House Targaryen before, so it would be easy for me to become part of the faceless world. But for Myrcella, this life was the only one she had known; she would turn her back on her House not from her own will but because she was forced to in order to survive. She was young, only a few years older than I when I first became a shadow in the game, but she had always had her family to remind her where she came from. How would she handle being No One?

“Someone,” Jaime amended.

_We would become No One to everyone but each other; then, and only then, would we be someone._

**_Fin._ **


	22. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Looking back, looking forward.

**_Epilogue_ **

I awoke to the hoarse caw from a raven that was perched on our windowsill. Jaime slept on in bed beside me and I made sure not to stir him. There was a telling stillness about the bird as we regarded one another. This was no ordinary messenger.

I took the scroll tied to its foot and saw an unfamiliar sigil. A soaring raven crowned in iron… I silently broke the seal and greedily took in the slanted scrawl.

_Never forget that you will always be welcomed home…all of you._

_Brandon the Three Eyed Raven, First of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Six Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm_

_&_

_Sansa of the House Stark, First of Her Name, Queen of the North_

I stared at the short message that bore so much; Daenerys Targaryen had fallen to the madness that claimed so many of our House and lost the Iron Throne that had cost her everything to gain. And now, against all odds, Bran was the ruler of the six kingdoms and protector of the realm… and Sansa had risen above all those who underestimated her and taken back the seat of her House in ways her family never could have imagined.

The threat was gone. Our reason for running was dead. Should we return to Westeros? I caught my bottom lip between my teeth as I looked back at Jaime over my shoulder.

One of his arms was thrown over his face to fend off the faint slivers of the dawn that peeked through the curtains, and his chest fell and rose in a steady rhythm as he clung to the last tendrils of slumber. He thrived here away from the game; Myrcella flourished in ways I had not thought possible. Neither of them was suited to last long in the game, no matter its players.

Should I bring them back to all that? Could I?

I set my lips in a grim line as I made my way over the flickering candle that was almost burnt out. I held the message over the flame until the words were consumed by fire. I flicked away the ashes that were the only sign left of the message and then brought my hand down to the swell of my abdomen. I smiled breathlessly at the fierce nudge against my hand before making my way back to bed.

No, we would not be returning to Westeros.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all who have bookmarked, given kudos, and have been with Ren from the beginning. I have AU scenes for this work that take place in various parts of the story that I could post as one-shots if anyone is interested.   
>  From a humble fanfic writer, again, thank you.


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